Designed Intent
by poppyfoxcroft
Summary: Read Rune Alignment and Aligned Design first to increase your understanding and appreciation of this story. Chapters One & Two are reversed read Chap. Two first, then Chapter One. The characters belong to those far smarter and more talented than I. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

11

Designed Intent

Chapter 2

Monday Afternoon

Gleason looked at the clock; this class would end in ten minutes. Students were beginning to gather up their items. "Excuse me, but we are not done here. Leave your things alone. I consider preparing to leave before dismissal as rude. I will not tolerate rude behaviour and will grade it accordingly. Now, stop fussing about and listen."

The class settled and many shifted uncomfortably. Gleason knew they were trying to find the edges of command. Well, she controlled all of the edges and they just found out where one is.

She continued for a few minutes and ended with, "Be certain you purchase the text by Gleason Wintermantle; the one with the blue cover, it is the only one you will need for this course." Gleason looked out at the sea of faces and shook her head. "If you are going to drop this course, please do so before the seventeenth. Be sure to read the assignment. And do not blow it off; I will know if you do. Do you have questions about anything? That's it then; I'll see you Wednesday." As if a single unit, the students stood, shuffled, gathered, and began to leave.

Gleason smiled as she walked back to her office. This just might work, she thought.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eames had not said a word to Sledge since she walked out last night. First, she was shocked by his comment about them never living together. Then, she had been mortified. After that, she was crushed. Now, she was pissed. Goddamn him anyway. That bastard. Who does he think he is?

From the corner of her eye, she watched him approach with his cup and a sheet of paper. Here he comes, she thought. You are going to crawl on your belly, big boy, just like the snake you are. You are going to crawl for a long, long time.

"Alex," he stood beside her and handed her a sheet of paper. "This came out of the printer for you. I didn't think you'd want anyone to see it." He turned and walked toward the coffee room.

She read it and then saw him standing in the coffee room watching her. They locked eyes for a moment and then an itch started up under her right eye. She continued to look at him and scratched it with one particular finger.

Damn him if he didn't smirk at her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Put down your weapon! Put it down! Do it NOW!" Bobby Goren shouted to the old man pointing his weapon at Bobby's chest.

Bobby trained his weapon on the old man and then said, "Come on, put down the gun." Bobby could see the man's arm start to shake; the old guy was getting tired. "Let's quit this and then we all get to go home. Lower the gun," Bobby tried to reason with the man.

He and Eames had come to interview Jessup Zankowsky, a witness had named Zankowsky as one of three individuals who had been at the jewelry store just before the safe had blown. The perps killed the owner and cleaned out the safe.

It was an old-fashioned safe robbery. One of the stolen items, an ancient piece worth untold millions, belonged to a private collector; it was at the jeweler for a repair. The value of that single piece warranted the involvement of the Major Case Squad.

Zankowsky had opened the motel room door with his gun drawn and Eames and Bobby immediately did the same. Bobby had lured the old man out of the doorway and into the parking lot by backing away, letting Eames slip into the room behind the old geezer.

Eames had called for backup and cuffed the old woman sitting on the edge of the bed. Alex did not want to take out the guy from the back, she really didn't think he would shoot Bobby. Besides, the old woman was crying, pleading with her not to shoot him, "That old bastard is no good with a gun, just explosives. He's a good man, don't shoot him."

Because Bobby and Eames had come to interview the man, neither wore a vest. They had conducted hundreds of interviews and safely negotiated more than a dozen hostage situations and stand-offs without losing a life. Well, Clive Donohue was the lone exception. That did not really count because Bobby had been the one taken hostage.

"Ok, look, let's just talk, you and me. Here, I'm putting down my weapon. You do the same." Bobby bent and set his gun on the gravel parking lot. He stood with his hands raised beside his shoulders. "Your turn."

Four black and whites careened into the parking lot and the old man looked startled. His eyes left Bobby and took in the police cars in the plumes of dust. Bobby could have taken the old man's gun had he been two steps closer.

"Come on, put it down," Bobby watched the man's arm shake. He's not going to be able to hold it up much longer, he thought. "Come on. My arms are getting tired. Let's just both put them down and talk. I'll call off these other guys. What do you say?"

The old fellow looked at the tall detective and thought, he looks like Joey, that sonnabitch Joey. The old man squeezed off a shot.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Brine, you feeling ok? You look like shit."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming down with something, that's all."

Actually, Sly Brine hadn't slept in three nights and he couldn't remember when he last ate. This whole situation was making him crazy. He had to get out, why had he said he'd do such a thing. What was he thinking?

"Well, if you're feeling ok, get your ass over here, this fork isn't going to drive itself."

Brine nodded and moved toward his vehicle. His mind spun with options. What the hell, I'm as good as done anyway. I have no life. I have screwed up on both sides of heaven. Nothing matters now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Dr. Wintermantle, may I have a word?"

She looked up and there he was, standing in the doorway to her office, "Of course, Malcolm. Come in," she answered grinning.

"So, how was your first class?" he asked with a smile.

"Huge. Dear God, Malcolm, how can I ever get to know so many students?"

"Oh, you won't, and don't try. About a quarter of them will drop before the third class. And then, another fifteen percent will drop."

"That's comforting, I guess. Was there something else?"

"Actually, yes, as you know from previous university work, publish or perish is the standard. So, Willow and I were wondering if you would join us in working on an article for the BSAS journal."

"Oh, Malcolm, I don't know. This is my first semester, I have so many classes, and some of the courses are new. Thank you for thinking of me, but I, I don't think I would be of any help; perhaps next semester."

Malcolm stepped closer and went to shut the office door, but he caught her look and thought better of it. "Gleason, the three of us each take a third and all of us get our names on the whole thing. It's a good deal. You know one article a year is expected. Think about it, won't you? Besides, you will need something to fill your time away from your detective."

He knew he should not have added that last bit, but out it came anyway. Gleason shot him a look and replied, "I'll think on it. When do you need my answer?"

"Willow and I were hoping to meet Wednesday evening to talk topic and perhaps begin an outline."

"I'll let you know by then. I really have to prepare for my next class."

"Have a good one."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"We good?"

"We good." Turnbuckle and his gangsta pal engaged in a complicated series of hand maneuvers that resembled a greeting or symbol of agreement in some cultures. "We meet here, right here. You gotta be on time, man. No shit, this is going down like clockwork. You stand outside, watching for anyone, anything. You see something, you signal us. The other guy and me, we go in, he shows me the good stuff, we bag it up, we're back outside, and the three of us take off. We split the goods and we don't know each other after that. Cool?"

"Uh huh."

"Fuck, man! Don't you want to know anything? Like 'what's the signal?' Or, 'when we doing this?'" Melvin Turnbuckle was beginning to rethink his decision-making on selecting this jerk-off.

"Yeah, man, sure. I just figured you'd tell me when I needed to know them, you know. Don't get all corporate on me."

"Ok, ok. We're good, then, right?"

"Yeah, man, we're good."

This was the biggest thing Turnbuckle had ever considered. He had an absolute expert to pick out the best things in on the deal and – he had thought – a trustworthy lookout with an IQ greater than the current temperature. Ok, things work out, he told himself. Things work out. Right.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Officer down!" someone shouted into the radio.

The old man flew backward and dropped. Four officers each put one slug into his upper chest.

Eames and everyone else ran to the other body on the ground. He was on his back, his eyes slowly opened and his colleagues told him to stay still, don't move. Bobby Goren knelt down and said, "Did it stop? Open his shirt! Did it stop!"

"Detective, he's not bleeding. It stopped," a uniformed said, standing over the officer and the kneeling detective.

"Don't rip it," the downed officer whispered sluggishly, "unbutton it, don't rip it."

"Hell, he's fine," Sledge said, looking down at Bobby and the officer.

"Let me see it," Bobby said. There, buried in the Kevlar of the officer's vest, sat the .22 slug the old man had gotten off. Bobby sighed with relief and stood up. EMTs trotted over and began to assess the officer.

Bobby wiped his eyes with his right hand.

Sledge stood by and asked, "You ok, man?" Bobby nodded assent. "You are one lucky son of a bitch. Had that geezer had any kind of steady aim, you'd be a goner."

"Yeah, I know. I know," Bobby said softly. He really wanted to hear Gleason's voice.

"C'mon, Alex will drive you back. Take the rest of the day to finish the paperwork and then head home. Call your woman." Sledge was grateful Goren had not been hit, it would have destroyed Alex.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

6

Designed Intent

Chapter 1

Sunday Afternoon

Bobby's tongue met Gleason's tongue; his hand, hidden under her wrap, slid down her back and then to her bottom, pulling her close, pressing her against his crotch. It did not matter to him that they stood in the center of the ticketing area of Concourse B at O'Hare. People passed by, some glancing and smiling, others glancing and scowling.

"Bobby, please. Don't Love, we're going to embarrass ourselves," Gleason whispered, smiling up at him.

"I am going to miss you. God, I am going to miss you," he pulled her tight and rocked with her. "Tell me you love me," he said into her hair.

"I love you, Bobby, forever." They stood silently holding each other for another minute, and then Gleason said, "Now, you should go on through security. It will take extra time declaring your weapon. Go on." She could not help it, but tears filled her eyes. "Go on, Love."

Bobby heard the tears in her voice and bent down to look at her, "Oh, Honey, don't cry. Sweetheart, don't cry. Come on. I'll call you, when I land and then when I get home. We'll talk tonight. Ok? I'll see you in two weeks. It will go fast. You'll see."

This was the beginning of living apart. Gleason would begin teaching at Northwestern on Monday. They would commute between Chicago and New York, each taking a turn on alternating weekends. It would be expensive and tough.

Gleason knew she was being silly. It was only two weeks, not months. She worried so about him, though. Her greatest fear was that he would be hurt, shot; she did not know if she could live without him.

"I know, I know. You be careful, understand? Call me when you get to New York. Now go. I love you. Forever. Go."

Bobby kissed her lightly, said "I love you," picked up his bag, and walked toward security, already removing his ID and shield from his inside pocket. He spoke briefly with a TSA officer who listened, glanced at this ID, and then ushered Bobby to an enclosed area. Bobby turned and waved sadly to Gleason. She waved back, waited a moment and then turned for the escalator down to baggage claim and the way to parking.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, you gonna do this with me or not?" Melvin Turnbuckle shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for the other guy to respond. He wanted to get his boys lined up so he could put his plan into action. He needed this one, this one had, shall we say, certain background information that would come in handy at some point. "So, you gonna do it? Huh? I gotta know, you know, like today. What's it gonna be, man?"

Sylvester Brine could not believe he was considering engaging in a criminal endeavor with this man. How far have you fallen, he asked himself. He did not want to do this. No sir, he did not. "Yeah, I'm in."

Turnbuckle whooped and went to high five the other man, but got no response. "Ok, like sure man. Ok, you wait for me to call you, understand. Then, like after I meet with the old man, then we'll all meet, and then we'll do it. This is gonna be good, man." He watched as the other man just turned and walked away. "This is gonna be good. I'll call you, right?" Brine ignored him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby sat in the window seat of the exit aisle. The gate agent had changed his seat when she called his name to speak to him about the placement of his bag once on board. His carry-on, containing the declared weapon, had to go under the seat in front of him. She gave him a lingering once over, smiling and being very, very nice as she inspected the bag's lock. Then she asked to see his ID and she took her time reading every word. He knew exactly what she was doing, this had happened before.

"I see the window exit seat is open, Detective. Would you be more comfortable with the extra legroom? You are quite tall," she said with her prettiest smile.

"Thank you; that would be nice."

"I can block the seat next to you, so you can spread out if you like."

Bobby nodded, smiled and said, "Thanks."

The plane was nearly full; a young kid, college age, sat on the aisle, the empty seat between them. Bobby stared out at the darkening sky, thinking about Gleason, how this was going to be, her so far away, them not being together.

His mind and heart darkened as he flew east into night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where does this go?" Eames turned with platter in her hands. "Edward, this platter, where does it go?"

"What?" Edward glanced up from the article he was reading and continued, "Second cabinet, top shelf." He wandered toward the kitchen, still reading, "Hey, listen to this, it says here they are making silencers out of foam core board and angel hair, that spun glass stuff."

He stopped in the doorway and watched her reach, up on one foot, toes actually, hanging onto the cabinet door, trying to slide the heavy platter onto the top shelf. He crossed to her, put a hand on her waist, took the platter from her and easily laid it on the shelf. "Alex, what are you doing? Leave this; Kate will put it away tomorrow. Come here, let me read this to you. This is good stuff." He turned to return to the living room.

"I don't think it's fair that your housekeeper knows more about you and your stuff than I do."

"Well, she better. I pay her to know stuff."

"You know, I could know too if we moved in together." There, she said it. Eames could not believe she actually said it! She was glowing as she watched him stop and turn.

"Alex, there is no way in hell we are ever moving in together."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Evening

Gleason sat at the small kitchen table trying to put the names of her students into a spreadsheet for each of her classes. She hated this part of the job, wishing she could ask a graduate assistant to do this.

Loomis, the kind doorman at the Hilton, had a cousin in real estate who had found this place for her. She and Bobby had looked at it two weeks ago and she fell in love with it. The cousin told her she was fortunate to have gotten one of the bungalows at the Quartermaine house.

The Quartermaine mansion sat on Bremen Boulevard just three blocks from Northwestern's campus. The estate included a gatehouse, stables, a small paddock, and the main house. A small bungalow sat on each corner of the main house. Back in the day, the bungalows served as quarters for the help. These quarters were attached to the main house, hence the name, "Quartermaine."

The bungalow was perfect for her. A private entrance opened onto a large enough center room that served as living room and kitchen space. The bedroom, bathroom and closet make up the other half of the space.

Gladys, the estate manager, liked the young couple – she thought Gleason was particularly attractive – and offered them the chance to pick through abandoned and no longer used furnishings stored in a room off the back of the stable. Gladys watched as the young couple sorted through and made their choices. That is one lucky man, she thought.

Together they found a decent enough sofa, worn wing chair, small end table and lamp, rickety kitchen table and two mismatched chairs. The also found a nice bedroom set of head and footboard, dresser and night table. Bobby could not believe that Gleason would even consider using the stored mattress and box spring, "Jesus, Gleason it's probably full of mice and that wouldn't be the worst of it."

The three of them and Daryl, the handyman, lugged the items over to the apartment. Bobby and Gleason spent rest of the afternoon and evening shopping for a mattress and box springs, linens and cleaning supplies. A small argument ensued when Gleason insisted on getting kitchenware from a charity shop; Bobby won out.

He in particular enjoyed the shopping. It made him feel like they were shopping for their own home, as a married couple. A sad thought flashed through his mind – they would have been shopping for baby things now if – he shoved that thought away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What have I gotten myself into? Dear God, what have I become?" Brine didn't think his shame and self-hate could get any worse than the events that had preceded this life, but here he was – in league with the devil.

He prepared for bed and then, as he had done from childhood, he dropped to his knees and prayed. This time, he asked for forgiveness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Good night, Sweetheart. I love you. I'll talk with you again tomorrow evening. Gleason don't cry. Honey, if this is going to work, we have to make it work." His heart was breaking; this is never going to work, he thought, never.

It had been so good these last three months. After the miscarriage, rather, after the rough patch following the miscarriage, life was wonderful, everything was so normal. He wanted it to go on forever. Bobby had never wanted Gleason to take this job at Northwestern, but he would never say that to her.

"Gleason, Baby, please," he rubbed his eyes with the fingers of his right hand. He felt himself getting angry – not at her – but at this completely fucked up situation that was going to keep them apart. Calm down, he told himself – just calm down. His temper had improved significantly in the last few months and he did not want to lose it now.

"I'm sorry Bobby," she sniffed, "I've got work to do and you should get to sleep, Love. We will talk tomorrow evening, my class ends at eight so I'll be here by nine, ten your time. You be careful, promise?"

"Yes, I promise. You have a great first day. I love you, Gleason."

"I love you, g'night."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason finished her work, showered and went to bed. She laid a short time, feeling very alone in the bed, in the apartment; it was so quiet. It was the first night of many that she would sleep alone in this bed; it was big and empty and cold without him. She pulled up her green throw from the foot of the bed, dragged Bobby's pillow over her shoulder, and hugged it to her chest; his scent was comforting. Slowly, Gleason fell asleep.

Bobby finished his beer and went to bed. He laid a short time, feeling very alone in the bed, in the apartment; it was so quiet. It felt strange to sleep alone in their bed, it was big and empty and cold without her. He turned onto his left side, facing where she would be and pulled her pillow to his chest, her cinnamon scent was comforting. Bobby fought it, but then he cried. He had a very bad feeling about her being so far away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

Designed Intent

Chapter 3

Monday Evening

"Why did they always use clay? Why not use flat stones? Why not use bark?" The question came from the seventh row, left side, near the wall. Gleason looked out at the sea of faces, all one hundred twelve of them, and wondered what she was doing here.

She took a deep breath and replied, "They used clay because that was the material at hand. No flat stones littered the area because of the glacial movement in that region. And the conifers growing at that time produced bark of insufficient quality for scribing. You will get all of that background information when you read chapters one and two for the next class." Gleason sighed, she was exhausted. She looked out at the faces looking back at her, and then she looked at the clock on the wall, forty more minutes.

"You know what, I'm done. Go home, go to the library, go away. Anyone bothered by that? Good. Goodbye." With those words, the room began to clear and Gleason prepared to leave as well. She clicked off the projector, shut down the computer, removed her thumb drive, and placed the computer into the AV cabinet, locking it.

"It is against university policy to release a class more than thirty minutes prior to the end time."

Gleason looked up to the back of the lecture hall and saw Malcolm Conway standing in the doorway. He started down the ramp toward her.

"So, can I trust you not to tattle on me?" Gleason said with a smile.

"Only if you let me buy you dinner," he said, standing too closely, looking at her too deeply.

Gleason took a step back and said, "It is against university policy for staff to fraternize." She packed her canvass bag and let Malcolm lug it up off the table. They started up the ramp to the exit.

"Oh, is that what we are doing, eh, fraternizing? Well, I had no idea. We should then truly abuse the policy," he stepped in and whispered, "Let me make us dinner and you stay the night."

Gleason was shocked and stopped in her tracks. "Give me my bag!"

Malcolm immediately knew his mistake, "I am sorry. That was completely out of line. Forgive me, it was a sad attempt at humor, I am sorry."

He was so much like Bobby at this moment. Are all men the same in their contrition, she wondered. "Give me my bag, Malcolm."

He stared at her; sorry he had moved so quickly. "Let me carry this to your office. Come on, you know how heavy it is. Please."

The tote did weigh a ton and she was already tired of lugging it around. "Then you leave, understand?"

"Yes. I am sorry, Gleason, you know that, right?"

"Let's just move past it. Why are you still here anyway? You don't have a Monday evening class, do you?" Gleason answered.

"I am your mentor so I wanted to see how your first day went. I am fulfilling my responsibilities," Malcolm responded.

They walked in silence until they were in front of Margrave Hall, her office was on the second floor, then Malcolm said, "You know, if you are going to drag this load around with you, and I don't think that is very smart, I can arrange for a grad assistant to carry it for you."

She looked at him skeptically, "Really?"

"Well, no, but I could do it for you," he said with a feigned, fresh expression.

"Oh, for God's sake, Malcolm, you are tiresome. Give it up, will you?"

"Just thought I'd give it a try; here, let me carry this to your office. Then I'll go."

Gleason shook her head and opened the door for him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sylvester Brine knelt naked and sobbing, trying to pray. He knew he was going to hell anyway. His one previous crime had resulted, not in incarceration, as it had not been reported, but in excommunication. A far more severe punishment than any time spent inside. How ironic, had he been incarcerated, he would not be involved in this mess.

His gaunt frame heaved with sobs as he tried to pray. Bits of words, slurred and incoherent mixed with the howls of his weeping. The points of light at the edges of his vision convinced him God was sending him angels. It would be ok, God had forgiven him!

A smile reflecting the peace he finally felt graced his face as Brine tumbled onto his side.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, you two are still here?" Captain Jim Deakins was returning from a full day of out-of-the-office meetings. He feared the stack of messages and undone work waiting for him. "I have to say, Bobby, I am glad to see you are still here at all. A little excitement, huh?"

"A boatload of luck, you mean." Bobby and Eames had returned to One Police Plaza to finish the paperwork on the shooting today. While they should have been jubilant that Bobby had not been shot, both detectives were quiet.

"You two have time to brief me on what happened?" As one, the partners rose and followed the boss into his office and in short order, they relayed the whole scenario. "Why didn't you take him out, Alex? Christ, you were behind the man with a clear shot."

Alex's head dropped and instinctively her hand went to her forehead, shielding her eyes. Goddamn it, she thought, don't tell me what I already know. She fought the tears that had brimmed all afternoon.

"She made the right choice, Captain. We needed Zankowsky alive. This case is cold now, without him. He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. I honestly didn't think he would shoot. I, I even set down my weapon. Why would I do that if I wasn't sure he wasn't going to pull the trigger? He fit the profile of an old time --."

"Bobby stop. Don't bullshit me with your psychobabble. It was by the grace of God or whatever is out there that you weren't hit." He wanted to go on with Eames, but he knew she knew she had made a mistake. "Have you called Gleason?"

"I will, later. She's not going to know about this. Ever."

"Go home, you two. Go have a drink or get some dinner. Leave this behind you. Finish the paperwork tomorrow."

Eames and Goren nodded and walked back to their desks. Neither said anything for a few minutes. Then, "Bobby, I, I want you to know --."

"Alex, you don't need to say anything. You made the right choice."

"Yes, Bobby, I do need to say this. Let me say this. I need to say it to you. I didn't have your back out there. I was so wrong. I should have taken him out, I should have. But I didn't and he aimed for you but missed and Caruso was hit. Jesus, Bobby, I am supposed to watch your back. I failed you." Then she cried.

Bobby didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. So, he stood and watched her cry. Powerless.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Margrave Hall was dark and quiet as most of the other faculty and staff had gone home for the night. Gleason led the way to her office, unlocked the door and snapped on the light; Malcolm followed her in.

"Flowers?" Malcolm said with some surprise, "Who sent you flowers, I wonder?"

Gleason was shocked, surprised and then suspicious. She looked at Malcolm smiling like a Cheshire cat, he was. "I wonder who it could be?" he continued, smirking.

I hope to God these are from Bobby, she thought. Gleason crossed to her desk, removed the tiny envelope, read the card and her face glowed with delight.

"Well?" Malcolm asked, knowing exactly who sent those flowers. He watched her face illuminate from within as she read the card.

"You know who," she answered, bending to sniff a bloom. "Thank you for carrying my bag, Malcolm. Have a good evening" and with that, he was dismissed.

Malcolm walked toward his own office; I should have thought of flowers, he said to himself. She likes flowers, wildflowers; I need to remember that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday night

"Hi, Love."

"Hi Honey," Bobby said, leaning back against the sofa. "How are you feeling?" God it was good to hear her voice. "Are you at the apartment?"

"Yes, and the door is locked. I'm ok. Thank you for the flowers, Bobby. They are wonderful. I've never gotten flowers at work before. Thank you, Love. How are you?" She sounded tired.

He had decided that he would not tell her about the standoff today; it would just worry her. "I'm ok. How was your first day? This was 'Origins of Dialect' and 'Introduction to Ancient Languages,' right?"

"Yes, how do you remember these things? You are so clever." Bobby could hear the smile in her voice.

"I remember because I love you and this is important to you and you are important to me. So, are your classes big?"

"Oh, yes. The afternoon class has one hundred fifteen registered. Can you imagine? Ninety minutes three days a week. How will I ever get to know them all? The evening class has only forty-five on Monday and Wednesday for three hours. In addition, tomorrow and Thursday I have a morning class and afternoon class with office hours between and after. This is a lot more than I was imagining."

Bobby listened carefully. She will be busy, he thought, and that is not a bad thing. "Honey it's just the first day. It will get better. It's all just new."

"I know. I know." They sat quietly for a moment.

"I love you, Gleason," he whispered. He loved her, as he never thought he could love anyone. He missed her so much.

They sat quietly, listening to each other breathe. "Are you sorry you took this position?" he asked softly.

Gleason didn't say anything for a moment. "I miss you, Love. I will miss you everyday."

She didn't say she regretted taking the position. He really hadn't expected her to.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby and Gleason began their first two weeks apart, each establishing a new routine. They worked single-mindedly and spoke every evening. Bobby had to work the following weekend, so they would be apart. Life would not be easy without her.

16


	4. Chapter 4

21

Designed Intent

Chapter 4

Tuesday

Eames was at her desk early Tuesday morning. She was a wreck. Too little sleep and too much crying and booze will do that a person.

Sledge had called Eames the night before and said he wanted to come over. She told him no, but opened the door when he got there.

"Why are you here, Edward?"

"Why did you open the door?"

"Fuck you."

"Alex, Hon, you need to talk about this shooting this afternoon. It will eat you alive." He turned and locked the door behind him. Then walked to the fridge and reached for the bottle of wine that always sat on the bottom shelf of the door, but it was already in the recycle bin. "How much of this have you had? Did you drink that whole thing tonight?"

"That is none of your goddamn business. I don't want to talk to you about anything. Why did you even call?"

"Why did you open the door?"

"Fuck you."

"I notice a pattern emerging here. Goren would have predicted such a thing. Come here; sit with me. Hon, you have to talk about this. Alex, come here." Sledge moved to the sofa and sat in his usual place, he patted the spot beside him – her usual place. "Hon?"

Eames was just drunk enough to have no backbone. She was a mighty force sober, but pretty much a wet rag drunk. She looked at her lover and realized how much she missed him – and how much she needed him. Eames started toward him and lost her footing, Sledge was there in an instant to catch her.

"Whoa, Missy!" Edward swept her up into his arms and said, "Why don't we talk in the bedroom? That way, when you pass out, you will already be in bed. Sound like a good idea? I think so." With that, he headed to the bedroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason soon realized that living three blocks from campus made for a brisk, healthy walk when you are twenty-something; but at forty-something, it was a different story. She was huffing puffing and the weight settling on her chest was mildly worrisome.

"Hey, pretty lady, can I give you a lift?" a voice called from a vehicle on the street beside her. Gleason ignored the rude intrusion and tried to pick up her pace. "Gleason! Let me give you a lift!" At the sound of her name, she stopped, turned and bent to see who it was.

"Oh, Malcolm! Yes, yes, thank you." She headed for the car and he reached to open it for her. She slid in and pulled shut the door. "Thank God it was you."

"Why are you walking? Do you have car trouble?" Malcolm glanced at her and noticed her pallor, near gasping and the fact that her left forearm was vertical against the center of her chest. "Are you all right?" He pulled to the curb and parked illegally. "Gleason?"

She struggled to catch her breath and waited with her eyes closed for a minute, then whispered, "Yes . . . yes I'm fine . . . fine . . . give me just a minute."

Malcolm reached over and put his hand on her shoulder. "Can I do anything? Should I call 911?"

"No!" Gleason shook her head and waited, as her gasping became breathing again and the pain eased. "This happens occasionally. It always goes away after a few minutes." Malcolm studied her, not sure whether he should call for help or not. He watched her take a deep, shuddering breath and then push the hair from her face. "There, there. It always ends."

She turned to face him and recognized the look. Bobby had had the same look that morning in his office, after their first date for coffee, when she had gone to him to report the vicious messages that had started the awfulness. Right then, she knew for sure that Bobby was her 'one.' She saw in Bobby pained love, a love that would care for her forever. Gleason looked away quickly and said, "Malcolm, please, let's go."

Malcolm looked at her deeply for another minute and then he pulled from the curb.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mr. Brine? . . . Mr. Brine are you all right? . . . I am going to call 911 if you do not answer me. . . . Ok, I am going to call them. . . . Last chance. . . . Here I go. . . . Mr. Brine?"

Mrs. Nicholson was old, gray, plump, widowed, and took in boarders to make ends meet. She was not nosey, made the washer and drier available to those who chose to use them, and would provide a light breakfast and simple dinner for a nominal, additional charge. Her boarders were generally quiet, gaunt, stubbly-looking men in age from twenty to ninety-three. She was a kind, good, generous woman who was certain she would be raped and killed in the night by one of them.

She had been knocking on Brine's door for twenty minutes. Sylvester Brine was one of the nicest gentlemen ever to visit her house. He was quiet, clean, polite, and very private. Mrs. Nicholson decided to check on him, as he had not yet come downstairs.

"Ok. I'm going to call the police now." Mrs. Nicholson waited another minute and then walked to the table at the end of the hall to use the phone.

"911, what is your emergency?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby arrived reading the folded newspaper while walking from the elevators. He dropped the paper on his desk and shrugged out of his coat, hung it up and sat.

"Morning," Eames said to him as she had nearly every morning of their partnership.

"Yeah. You want some coffee?" he asked as he had nearly every morning of their partnership.

"Thanks," Eames said holding up her cup. Bobby took it and headed off.

Eames' head was still pounding and she felt sluggish, but knew the coffee would set her straight. She glanced over at Edward and saw that he was watching her. He sat leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out with fingers in front of his lips in a Bobby-like way.

They locked eyes for a moment and he imperceptibly nodded toward the crash room. Eames looked at him and stood. She met Bobby on the way and took the cup from him. "Thanks," she said, continuing to walk. A minute later, Sledge passed Bobby heading in the same direction. Bobby just shook his head.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malcolm held onto Gleason's elbow as they walked slowly to Margrave Hall. "Gleason, I really think you should go to the clinic."

"I am fine, Malcolm, please, let's say no more about it, all right?"

He did not believe her for one minute. Malcolm wanted to ask her about her heart, but was not sure how she would react, so, he did, "Do you have a problem with your heart?"

Gleason shut her eyes and stopped. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Please, don't push me on this." She looked at him directly and he knew to let it be.

"All right, Lass, all right. I am worried about you, though." They continued in silence until they were at Margrave. He opened the door and ushered her through. Together they walked up the steps to the second floor. "Get your things for your class and I'll walk with you."

"No, no. My class is at eight-forty, I have some time to get some things done here. Thank you, Malcolm. Thank God, you drove by. I'll be fine now. Really."

Malcolm stood a wee bit close and then ran his hand down her arm, "All right. How about if we have lunch? I want to make sure you are all right."

"I, I don't know. We'll see."

They stared at each other and then he turned to leave. "Don't drag that body bag around with you today, ok?"

She smiled and sat at her desk.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Man, where is he? I _knew_ he was too good to be true. Turnbuckle was getting antsy. He and Brine were to meet and begin to discuss the particulars of this next job. He did not want anything to go wrong.

Where the fuck is he?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where am I?" Brine whispered.

"You are at Methodist General, Mr. Brine. How are you feeling?" the nurse asked.

"What happened? Why am I here?" Brine's lips were cracked and his tongue felt like it wore a wool mitten.

"Your landlady called the paramedics when you wouldn't answer your door this morning. You must have passed out from dehydration and starvation." Turnbuckle's blood work had shown absolutely no sign of recent nutrition. He was drug free and relatively healthy except for evidence of malnutrition.

"What time is it?"

"It is . . . nearly six o'clock, Tuesday evening."

Brine thought and thought. There was something I was supposed to do today, tonight, he thought. His mind raked through ideas and snatches of thought. What was I supposed to do? Then he remembered . . . oh, yeah, Turnbuckle. Brine slid back to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby was closing up his computer for the day when his cell rang. "Goren."

"Hi, Love."

"Honey, it's early. Everything ok?"

"Are you in the middle of something?"

"No, no, I'm just surprised to hear from you so early."

"If you are busy, I can --,"

"Is everything ok?" Her silence told him everything. "Gleason, what's wrong?"

"Are you still at work?"

"Yes. Gleason, what's wrong?" The wait was too long. He was about to say something else when she finally spoke.

"I finished at four and had an hour of office hours and then came back to the apartment and wanted to hear your voice. That's all." He thought he heard a faint breathiness in her voice.

"Tonight and Thursday are your short nights. You sound tired, are you feeling ok?"

"I am tired, Bobby. These are long days even when they are short days. I shouldn't complain. I had two new classes today."

"I know, Sweetheart – 'Evolution of Syntax' and 'Semantic Differentiation,' right?"

"You amaze me." He heard the smile in her voice and felt better. "I love you, Bobby."

"I love you more," he answered. They sat listening to each other breathe and then Bobby said, "Honey, I'm going to close up here and go home. I'll be home in about half an hour. I want to talk a long time but not here. I'll call you when I get home, ok?"

"Ok, be careful."

"You get something to eat. I'll call you in half an hour. I love you."

"I love you."

Bobby rushed to close up and drove home. Gleason made a pot of tea and thought about making a sandwich. Instead, she opened the box of graham crackers and waited for him to call.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, Edward and Eames talked a long time about the shooting, their relationship, and why he had said he did not want to move in together. She listened and told him she understood. On some level, she did; on other levels, she was hurt, disappointed, and angry. But, she understood and told herself she would work to accept it.

That night Bobby and Gleason talked a long time about her classes, his cases, and their relationship. Gleason had made the decision not to tell Bobby about the spells she'd been having since before moving to Chicago. It had happened twice at home and this was the first time here. She didn't want him to worry, so she said nothing.

That night Melvin Turnbuckle was out of his mind with concern. He thought for sure that Brine had changed his mind. He did not want to have to put off this job. He wanted to get it done. He would look for Brine tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

22

Designed Intent

Chapter 5

Wednesday

"Good morning, Detective."

"Good morning," he replied as they both settled.

"How have you been?"

"Ok; no blow-ups. Uhm, Gleason is living in Evanston now. I went up with her for the weekend, to make sure she was settled in and all."

"How's it been, these past two days?"

Bobby was quiet a moment. "Busy. For both of us. Her class load is huge, she'll be very busy."

"And that isn't necessarily a bad thing, is it?" Dr. Stephens asked with a slight smile.

Bobby glanced at his psychiatrist and returned the smile, "No, it isn't, actually."

"You said you both were busy. What have you been up to?"

Bobby told Dr. Stephens about the standoff on Monday and the near miss. She listened with studied amazement. "You are very lucky. Why do you think you weren't hit?"

"Because the old guy couldn't hold his arm steady, he was tired and his aim was off," Bobby replied, not sure where the doctor was going.

"I understand that; but, _why_ do you think you weren't hit? Why do you think that whole scenario turned out the way it did; why that way, and not the alternative?"

Then Bobby understood. He thought a moment and then answered, "It wasn't my time, I guess."

"Ok, why do you think it wasn't your time?"

His brow furrowed in thought and then said, "I don't know. We don't know about these things. It's God's will, I guess. Maybe He isn't done with me yet. Why are you asking me this?"

Dr. Stephens wanted to gauge where Bobby was in his faith. "I'm just curious about your take on these kinds of things. Let's move on. What did Gleason say about your near-miss?"

Bobby sat back and wiped his eyes with the fingers of his right hand. "Uh, I, I didn't tell her." Dr. Stephens watched him. "I didn't, I didn't want her to worry. She's got plenty on her plate already; she doesn't need to worry about me getting hurt." Bobby considered what he had just said and then nodded to himself. He glanced over at the psychiatrist, waiting for her comment.

"Why are you keeping secrets from her?"

"I don't think this qualifies as a secret, Dr. Shepherd. Secrets deceive; I'm protecting her, not deceiving her. The difference concerns intent."

"Very good, Detective; are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

"What?" Bobby felt the tremor of anger begin. "What do you mean? Are you saying that I am trying to deceive Gleason? Why would I do that? I want her to trust me with anything, everything." He was on his feet, struggling not to lose it. Dr. Stephens watched him.

Finally, Bobby returned to his seat. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, with his hands tented in front of his lips. He took a deep breath and sat back, right ankle over his left thigh. "Am I deceiving her?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know. What do you think?"

He thought for a moment and then said, "Why, why would I deceive her? What good would it do? I want us to trust each other, especially now."

"What do you mean, 'especially now'?"

"Now. Now that we're living apart. I want her to be safe, to not worry, to be happy, to, to . . . you know. I want to take care of her. But I can't because she's hundreds of miles away. I can't keep her safe. I can't protect her. I couldn't keep her safe here; she was shot. I, I can't. . ." Bobby was on his feet again, his left hand ran down the back of his neck and his arm pushed out beside his head. "I can't keep her safe. I can't. I have to, I have to. She has no one else. I, I. . ."

"Detective?" Bobby ignored her or didn't hear her. He was just realizing, on a conscious level, how vulnerable Gleason was. And how powerless he was to protect her.

"Detective, come sit down, please." Bobby turned and looked at the doctor. "Please, sit down." Bobby returned to his chair and sat.

They sat quietly for a few minutes and then Dr. Stephens asked, "Are you alright?"

He nodded. "What were you feeling?"

He sat with his hands over his face. "Uh, I just realized I cannot keep her safe. I am powerless to save her. She needs me. I have to take care of her."

"Why do you say you 'have to save her'? Save her from what?"

"From everything. Jesus Christ, I couldn't keep her from getting shot, almost dying, and she was right here. How can I keep her safe in Chicago?"

"Detective, we've gone through her shooting. You know it was not your fault. Why are you going back to that? What's happened to make to you worry so? Is it the near-miss?"

Bobby didn't want to admit it, but the near-miss had frightened him. He knew how lucky he had been. That single event made perfectly clear the level of responsibility he bore. His mother was totally dependent on him for everything. He made all of her medical decisions, spoke with her psychiatrist, looked after her every want, and need. His brother was not a factor in their mother's life any more. Now he had Gleason to care for as well.

He couldn't respond right away. His mind swirled with everything. Suddenly, Bobby stood up and announced, "I need to leave. I, I can't talk about this anymore. I have to go."

"Where are you going?"

"To work." He didn't tell her he was going to call Gleason and then go to work. He moved toward the door.

"Detective, sit down."

"I'm sorry, I really need to go."

"You are frightened and overwhelmed. We need to talk about how you feel. Please sit down." Bobby stopped and looked at the clock, he really wanted to call Gleason, but saw that she would be in class. His mother would be asleep. He sat.

"Detective, what you are feeling is perfectly normal. It is a reaction to Gleason moving to Evanston. This is evidence of your love for her. You want to cocoon her in your love, build a shield around her, and protect her from the world. At some point, however, it stops being love and becomes possession. She will suffocate. And you know what she'll do then."

Bobby considered all that Dr. Stephens said. He knew she was right. "I love her so much," he said softly. "I love her."

Dr. Stephens looked at him, "Then love her; and let her be. Have faith in her ability to survive, she's done well enough to this point. Have faith in your love for her. You need to have faith, Detective." Bobby looked back at the doctor and nodded.


	6. Chapter 6

27

Designed Intent

Chapter 6

Thursday

It was still the first week of classes and Gleason realized she was already behind. So, why did she tell Malcolm she would co-author the article with him and Willow? Because I am a glutton for punishment, she told herself. Her five classes were already generating a lot of work. The administrative paperwork alone was daunting. Completing forms for athletes on scholarship, veterans and reservists on military tuition, students requesting or requiring academic support – it seemed to be without end.

"I would have picked you up this morning, you know; you wouldn't have had to drive," Malcolm said again.

"I know, and I thank you, Malcolm, but it wasn't necessary. I drove myself and am fine now. Can we please just forget what happened?" He still had that look about him, that pained, worried, loving look. In an effort to change the subject, she continued with, "Let me ask you something, how often are these kinds of reports done?" She held up a sheaf of forms.

He took them from her and leafed through, "Oh, these, each one twice a semester. It's not a big deal, the American government just wants to make certain tax dollars are not being wasted or misused by the citizens who pay them." Gleason caught the whiff of sarcasm in his tone and grinned back at him. Malcolm continued with, "Do you want to get lunch today?"

"I don't think so, but thank you." Malcolm checked his watch and said, "I'm already late for class. I'll check on you later."

"You don't need to 'check on me.'"

"I know, but I will."

He left and Gleason sat. It felt as though mud flowed through her veins; she was so tired.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mr. Brine! Oh, Mr. Brine, I am so happy to see you! Here, let me help you." Mrs. Nicholson fussed over him as he made his way up the steps to the front porch. She waved to the cab as it pulled away as though it were a neighbor who had brought Brine from the hospital.

"Mrs. Nicholson, please, don't fuss. Please."

"Come; let me make you a nice lunch. You are so thin. All right?"

Brine was told he was lucky, his blood work showed he was malnourished and dehydrated. The hospital had given him a prescription to help boost his system and appetite; he did not intend to fill it. He was hungry, however.

"Here, why don't you go get cleaned up while I make you something good?"

Brine nodded and headed up to his room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where are you on that missing jewelry?" Deakins asked his two best detectives. Eames and Bobby had just returned from Methodist General. They had been talking with Zankowsky's wife, Mildred, who had had a heart attack and then a mild stroke following the shooting of her husband during the standoff at the motel.

"Mrs. Zankowsky is not saying anything," Eames offered, taking a seat. "She refuses to help 'the bastards that shot her Jessie."

"We've got notices out to all the pawn shops, identifying the pieces. We've contacted collectors who might be interested in the necklace," Bobby added.

"Could this have been a set up by the collector in order to collect on the insurance? Especially since the piece needed repair?" Deakins suggested.

"I don't think so," replied Bobby, "Bryce Silverthorne, the owner of the necklace, wants the piece back; he has not initiated an insurance claim. He's a genuine collector of the old school – possessing the piece means more to him than the value of the item."

The three were quiet a moment, and then Deakins asked, "We need to find Zankowsky's accomplices. That old man did not pull off this heist on his own. Give his wife a day to rest and then step into her. What about the security tapes?"

"Nothing," Eames answered, "the equipment was setting on a shelf beside the safe. The tape was destroyed when the safe blew."

Deakins shook his head in disgust and said, "Great. Well, where are we on the other case? What about those counterfeit books?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lunch had finished hours ago at the Carmel Ridge Center and Frances Goren dozed in her room on the medium security floor of the psych wing. Her roommate, Sylvia, was in the recreation room, playing cards. Sylvia was bipolar and currently having a particularly enjoyable run of good feeling and good luck. Frances was schizophrenic and the medication that tamped down the voices in her head, tamped down her energy as well. She slept often.

"Gramma? Gramma?"

Frances roused slowly to the sound of the little boy's voice, barely more than a whisper. She opened her eyes and saw him, standing in the doorway, waiting for an invitation to enter.

"Oh, hello, my Sweet Pea! I am so glad to see you. Come here and see your old Gramma." Frances watched the little boy cross the room from the door and then lean against the arm of her chair.

She smiled lovingly at the boy and said, "I've missed you so much. Where have you been?" The little boy smiled up silently at her. He looks so much like Bobby when he was little, Frances thought, oh, those curls! "I wish my son would bring us some books for me to read to you."

"He's my daddy. And the lady is my mommy," the little one said.

"I know, I know, Sweet Pea," Frances replied.

"Why do you call me 'Sweet Pea'?"

Frances paused, thought a minute and then responded with, "Because you _are_ a sweet pea. And, and I don't know your name." She paused again, tilted her head to the left, just as her younger son does, and kneaded her left knuckles with her right hand, again like her son.

Bobby Goren's mother looked down at the three- or four-year-old leaning against her chair and asked, "What is your name, anyway?"

The nurse standing at the door observed the entire episode. "Oh boy," she sighed and left to write her report.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where the fuck was you last night, man?" Turnbuckle was livid. "I almost went to your place, man, looking for you. What happened, man? You not gonna back out of this, are you? Tell me you ain't backing out. I need you man, you the one I really needs."

Turnbuckle had felt so much better after the warm, healthy lunch Mrs. Nicholson had prepared for him. She had offered to provide him three meals a day for the cost of the breakfast. She was more than happy to provide this to him in return for his quiet, kind, tidy demeanor. He was delighted to accept. Funny how a full belly can make everything seem so different, so much better.

"I told you I'm in. Don't worry."

"Where was you? We gotta make plans, man. I got the other dude, the lookout. We gots to get together to work this out, man. I wanna get this job done, so we can like, you know, get on wif our lives and all man. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"When do you want to meet?"

"Ok, man, ok that's good. Lemme talk wif NyeTeen and I'll get back to you. Prawbly gonna be tomorrow night, man. Yeah, less just say, it's tomorrow night, right here, say ten thirty. That good for you? Yeah."

"I'll be here, tomorrow night, ten-thirty," and Brine turned and walked away. He felt an interesting calmness. He knew God understood his decision to be a part of this; just as God had understood all of his previous questionable decisions. God was, after all, all knowing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby couldn't wait to talk with Gleason that night. He missed her desperately. Tuesdays and Thursdays were her short nights and she would be back to the apartment by six New York time. After work, he stopped by Pan Ling's for take out and drove home.

He changed his clothes and then ate straight from the cartons and finished his beer. He kept looking at the clock. Finally, his phone rang.

"Hi Honey."

"Hi, Love."

"Gleason, you sound so tired." He was startled by the sound of her voice. She sounded exhausted. "Honey, do you feel ok?"

"Yes, yes, I am fine. I am tired, however. This is a lot of work."

"Are you sure you're all right?" He didn't want to worry, but she didn't sound good.

"Yes, please, Bobby don't fret. I am fine. How was your day?"

Bobby hesitated and thought about what Dr. Stephens had told him about having faith in her and in himself. Bobby believed that Gleason would tell him if anything was wrong. She would not keep anything from him. His overreaction yesterday during the session was evidence of his concern and love for her. He was overreacting now. She would tell him if anything was wrong. She wouldn't deceive him.

"Deakins wants us to get going on that counterfeit book business. That one is going to be interesting, I think."

"I am certain you will enjoy it, Love. Counterfeit books, especially first editions, are right up your alley. Just think how much you will learn." He heard the smile in her voice as she said this.

"This is going to be exciting. Tomorrow Eames and I start in earnest on that one as the jewelry heist is pretty much stalled."

Bobby and Gleason talked for more than an hour. By the end of the conversation, he was satisfied that she was all right, that nothing more sinister than fatigue was bothering her. He knew this weekend would be tough without her, but he had decided to throw himself into work to keep from going out of his mind missing her.

Gleason was looking forward to the weekend to get caught up on work and sleep. She would miss Bobby, certainly, but she was wise enough to know that teaching here was unlike anywhere she had taught. The Ancient Studies program at Northwestern was huge, whereas everywhere else, the classes were few and small. Brookbine University back in New York had been a much smaller school than Northwestern and her largest class had had only fifteen students. Here, her smallest class had nearly fifty.

Both lovers were realistic about their first weekend away from each other.


	7. Chapter 7

33

Designed Intent

Chapter 7

Friday

The previous afternoon, shortly after the little boy arrived, Frances Goren had fallen asleep and the little boy wandered away. Now, Sylvia was jabbering on about something and Frances did not hear a word. She struggled up from her chair and was shuffling to the bathroom when she saw the child peeking from behind the drape on the window. "Oh, there's my little one! You wait right there for Gramma, ok? I will be right back. Don't you go away; I'll be right back now."

"What? Who you talking to this time, Frannie?" Sylvia said to Frances's back as the bathroom door closed. Sylvia looked toward the drapes and saw drapes hanging at the window. "She is one nutty woman," she said to no one in particular, "I guess she'll never be lonely, though, all those folks tucked away in her head to talk to. Never did see one of 'em, though, never did see one. Guess now, Frannie's seeing someone. Well, good on her for finally making one of them real. Still, though, pretty weird if you ask me. Well, no one ever does ask me. Not about anything. No one really cares what I think, I guess. Not that I would have any idea about anything. Never did have any chance to learn much, being tossed out of school for being weird like I was. I guess I am weird, guess so." And so began Sylvia's downward spiral. She had had a good long run of feeling good this last stretch and it was about time for the sadness to creep in around the edges.

Frances Goren emerged from the bathroom and noticed that Sylvia had stopped talking out loud. Thank goodness, she thought. A little peace and quiet for a while.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The analysis of the paper came back," Eames said to Bobby when he returned to his desk.

"Is it like I thought?" he asked.

"Actually, no, look at this," she offered him the report. Bobby took it, read it and frowned.

"Huh. This is common art paper, twenty-four pound, one hundred percent cotton rag paper. It's been aged in a solution of pannis root, linseed oil and saline." He looked over at his partner and continued, "Pannis root is found in heavily wooded areas, damp places. Wherever you see wild fern, you find pannis root. The linseed oil . . . that is interesting. I would not have considered it as a dilution mixture for use on paper."

Eames looked at Bobby expectantly, with raised eyebrows, knowing he was not finished with his explanation. She was not disappointed, "Uh, well, the linseed oil is an, is an oil," Bobby's hands were busily dancing, illustrating his point, "I would imagine that the oil would leave a residue, you know, greasiness on the paper. " Eames watched him think, his hands continuing to follow his thinking, "So, the paper must have undergone some kind of treatment to remove the oiliness."

"A drying process, maybe?" she offered.

"Something like that; or an absorption, or a wringing process. You know, pressing the damp paper to suction out or push out the moisture. This was pretty involved."

"How much of this stuff would someone need to fake three hundred pages? Where would you get that much paper?" Eames asked.

"It depends on the printing method," Bobby continued to read and then said, "It says here, the printing process was authentic to the time." He looked up and continued, "They used a printing press. That is a big piece of equipment. They'd need a warehouse facility."

"What about the paper?"

"The counterfeiter probably had access to an entire roll or he ripped individual pages from sketch pads. Either way, that's a lot of paper to acquire and dye."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason finished her Wednesday and Friday morning class, went to her office, gathered up the things she would need for the weekend, said good bye to the student receptionist and headed to her car. It was a glorious day, and she was feeling so much better after that spell walking to campus Tuesday morning.

She wanted to get busy, and get caught up – maybe even get ahead. In her mind, she began to construct a list of things to do. Bobby was always making lists, but not for the grocery. He said you never knew what you were hungry for until you go to where the food was. He called it being nutritionally spontaneous. Gleason smiled thinking of him.

As she drove the short distance from campus to her apartment, Gleason felt mildly conflicted. She was eager to get all this work done and so was glad for the weekend to work. She felt a little guilty about being glad to be away from Bobby. And, the next few days promised to be lovely, perfect for walking around campus, shopping in Chicago, making love. They would talk often this weekend, she told herself. She was looking forward to the time available to her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Malcolm, you need to take him this weekend," Maeve spoke steadily to her soon to be ex-husband. He had stopped by early on his way to campus to drop off the check.

Malcolm stopped, turned and said, "I'll pick him up here at six. Where do you want to pick him up on Sunday?"

Maeve was steaming, she was so angry with him. "Listen, Angus is your son; do not make him suffer because of your infidelity. This is hard enough on him already. I'll meet you at the hot dog place on Carter at six."

"Six is too late. We'll be there at two."

"Malcolm! Spend some time with your son. Be his father. For goodness sake, be something for once."

"Four o'clock. Pick him up at four. All right? Four." With that, Malcolm grabbed his jacket and walked toward the front door. Angus was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs that led to the second floor of their house; it had not been a home in a long while. The child had heard everything. He might have been almost four years old, but he understood that he was a burden to his mother and his father would be happier without him.

Malcolm reached to pull open the front door and caught sight of his young son; he knew immediately that the boy had heard it all. Angus looked at his father with complete innocence.

"Hey, laddie."

Angus did not move.

Malcolm crossed the short space and stood before the boy. He saw the hurt behind the child's blue eyes, eyes the color of his own. "Can I sit with ye for a bit?" Angus scooted to the right, making room for his father. Malcolm hung his jacket over the newel post and sat. Neither said anything.

"Angus, did ye hear your mum and me talking?" He knew his son had heard every word. Angus said nothing.

"I know ye did, lad." Malcolm was unsure of what to say next. "How about we go to a movie this weekend, eh? That will be fun, won't it?" Malcolm looked down at his boy. Angus looked up and said nothing. "What would you like to do, Gus? We can do whatever you like. Eh? What do you want to do?"

Angus still said nothing. Suddenly, he stood and ran up the stairs. Malcolm watched him turn at the top and heard him run down the hall to his room. Malcolm shook his head, took his jacket and left.

Less than a minute later, Angus Conway came thumping down the steps holding the picture he had made for his dad at school. He stepped off the bottom stair and looked left into the parlor, he looked right into the dining room. Slowly, Angus walked down the hall to the kitchen.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Anything new on anything?" Deakins asked as he walked over.

"The counterfeit books – the report on the paper came back," Eames offered. "It just opens up a slew of questions."

"Well questions lead to answers. Get some answers so we can close this one. Anything new on the jewelry heist?"

"Not a thing. That one is really cooling off," Eames reported.

Deakins rubbed his forehead and said with some tone, "Upstairs is getting antsy for a solve. You have two open cases – that jewelry heist with the collector's missing necklace and this counterfeit book thing; Sledge and Bishop have two, Perkins and Sullivan have one, and I don't know how many Logan and Wheeler have. Let's get going on these." With that, Deakins headed to his office.

"Ok, how should we proceed?" Eames asked her partner.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby and Eames walked up the steps to the Culver Hall, home to most of the physical and Earth science labs.

"Dr. Pennelli is expecting us," Eames said to the student staffing the receptionist's desk.

"He's in his office, room 2314, fifth door on the left. Go on down, he's waiting."

Eames nodded and led her partner down the hallway to the office; the door was open.

"Dr. Pennelli?" Eames said.

The professor looked up, stood and met the pair at the door. "Come in, please. Have a seat. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you," Eames replied. Bobby shook his head. "Uh, I'm Detective Eames, this is Detective Goren. I spoke with you on the phone. Thank you for seeing us."

"Certainly," Pennelli returned to his desk and Eames took one of the guest chairs. Bobby stood with two hands clutching his portfolio in front of his crotch. He took one step and was at the bookcase and Pennelli eyed him. "I, uh, I have to tell you, I've never spoken to the police before, not even a traffic cop, certainly never detectives." Pennelli seemed nervous.

"Well, since it's your first time, we promise to be gentle," Eames answered. Bobby turned and glanced back at this partner with a slight smile, catching the subtle joke.

"How can I help you?"

Eames proceeded to inquire after pannis root. Where it might be found, in the wild and commercially; its uses, and how it is processed. Bobby might as well have been mute.

Pennelli was forthright, complete and seemed to relax as he endeavored to share what he knew of the root. After about fifteen minutes, Eames looked at Bobby standing by the door and Bobby said, "Thank you Dr. Pennelli. If we need your expertise again, we'll give you a call." Bobby and the scientist shook hands, as did Eames, and the detectives left.

Pennelli watched the pair head down the hall and he shut his office door. He returned to his desk, lifted the phone and dialed. "You said to call if anyone asked about pannis root."

Bobby and Eames headed to the car. "Why didn't you sit down?" she asked him, "There wasn't that much to look at."

"Exactly. Why are professor's offices so small?" he shivered dramatically and continued, "Small spaces give me the creeps."

Eames drove and then asked, "What vibe did you get from Pennelli?"

"Him? Oh, he's in on it, for sure."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"All right, my Sweet Pea," Frances said as she sat back in her chair. "You were going to tell me what your name is. So, what is your name?" Frances Goren looked at the child at her knee and leaned forward, expectantly.

"My, my daddy would call me Chris and my mommy would call me Tian," the boy answered.

Frances looked at the little boy, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Why do you have two names?"

"Cause my daddy would call me Chris and my mommy would call me Tian," he smiled at Gramma. She's silly, he thought.

"Ok, Sweet Pea. I love you, Chris Tian."

"I love you, too, Gramma."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	8. Chapter 8

37

Designed Intent

Chapter 8

The Following Week

Monday

"Well, how was your first weekend alone?" Malcolm asked as he slid into the booth beside Gleason at the Windy City eatery in the Norris Student Center.

"Why, yes, please join me," she said to him sarcastically. "It was fine. I got so much done. What did you do?"

"Actually, I spent the weekend with my son."

Gleason's eyes shot up from her salad. "I didn't know you have a son. I, I didn't know you were married."

"Separated, we're separated."

They stared at each other for a long moment. "Tell me about your son."

"Tell me what you did to make you so happy this morning."

Gleason took the hint and they chatted about her weekend. They talked about classes and the article they were working on.

Gleason finished and headed to her afternoon class. The information about Malcolm's son had stunned her, as did the fact of his separation. It had never occurred to her that he might have been married. She pulled her phone and dialed Bobby's number, pressing the star button to go directly to his voicemail, "I love you, Bobby. I love you so much. I'll talk with you tonight," she said after the voice mail prompt.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday Night

"Hi, Honey."

"Hi, Love. How are you?"

"Fine. I miss you. Are you still tired?"

"No, it was good to get caught up, Bobby. I feel so much better."

He listened to her and heard happiness. He missed her terribly, but he was going to make this work. "You sound good, Honey. Only three more days and then I will be there with you. I cannot wait."

"It will be so good to sleep next to you, Love. I miss you. I miss your body."

"You just want me for my body, don't you?" he said with a smile. He loved when she got frisky on the phone like this. It was so unlike her.

"Well, certain parts of your body. I am discerning, you know."

"And what parts would those be?"

"Oh, I think you know. Do I need to have you find them?" She was about to continue along this line when she remembered something, "Oh, Bobby, I almost forgot! Marco Antonelli is performing on campus this Saturday night. Why don't I see if I can get us tickets! It would be fun."

She was so excited, he had no idea who this Antonelli person was, but he did not care. This would make her happy, and he wanted her to be happy. "That sounds wonderful, Sweetheart. It will be like a date. Then we can get dinner afterward and then spend the night making love. Sound like a plan?"

"Yes, oh I am so excited. This will be so nice. We haven't done something like this. It will be fun. I can't wait."

"I love you, Gleason, so much."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday

"Where would someone get a period printing press like that?" Eames asked her partner. They had put all of their effort into investigating the counterfeit books that were popping up all over the place now. Three more fakes had been reported over the weekend.

"I'm looking for that information right now. Hey, the guy from Antiquarian Books is coming by to talk about what he knows. He's the most reputable source in the city. He said he could be here at three-thirty."

"Good. You know, it's funny."

"What is?"

"All these experts on all these tiny little slivers of life. You know, this book guy, Gleason even with her ancient languages. Who even knew about this stuff?"

Bobby looked up from his computer screen and said, "I know a lot of people who know a lot of stuff about a lot of things. There is a lot to know out in the world, Eames. You should check it out sometime."

Eames was stunned. "What are you saying? Are you saying I'm stupid, that I don't know anything?"

"Eames, that is not what I said. I said, there is a lot to know and you might want to find out some stuff yourself. I did not say, or mean, you are stupid. I wouldn't say that and I certainly don't think that." Bobby felt bad thinking he made Alex feel bad. "Ok?"

Eames picked up her cup and walked toward the coffee room. Bobby watched her walk away and then he shot up to follow her. "Eames, are you upset?"

"Yes, Bobby! You intimated that I am stupid. No one is as smart as you are, for Chrissakes. Some of us have a normal IQ. We can't help not knowing stuff."

Bobby wasn't sure he agreed with that last bit, but he let it go. "Alex, I meant nothing. I certainly do not think you are stupid. Come on."

Eames watched him look at her with that pained, desperate look he gets. She knew he can't help the way he is, it's not his fault he's a genius freak. Actually, his mega-brain solved their cases. She knew she was fortunate to work with him, as he was fortunate to have her. She remembered when they had almost ended what they had together.

"All right. All right. Forget it. I overreacted."

"So we're ok?"

"Yes, we're ok."

They returned to their desks and slid back into the rhythm that made them so good.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday

Eames and Sledge ate at a place near Brookbine University. Students and families jammed the place. It was loud and cramped.

"Why did you think this was a good place to eat?" Eames said with some disgust.

"Hon, this place has the best fries. Wait until you see, they are the longest, hottest fries I have ever had. Like those fries we used to get at a fair when we were kids, remember? You are going to love 'em."

"Yeah, well, we'll see. How has Bishop been? Is she feeling better?"

"I guess. She's been really quiet, though. I think that biopsy scared her."

"Well, it should. Jesus, finding a lump like that." Eames shuddered.

Sledge leaned in and said softly, "You know, I think I should check you for anything out of the ordinary. Tonight, all over. With fingers and tongue. Just to be sure. You think so?"

Eames sat back and smiled at him. "I should check you, too."

"Oh, I'm counting on it. We need to look out for each other."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday

"This is the fifth counterfeit so far," Deakins was getting antsy about this case, although he was antsy about every case. "What have you figured out about these books? Any pattern?"

The three met in the conference room with the five bogus books. Bobby stood at a piece of chart paper with five columns; he pointed and said, "Well, these are the titles, three are poetry and two are narrative. All five represent a period from 1742 through 1869. Each contains paper dyed with the same process, each is printed with the same ink, each is bound in the same way using a combination of horse glue and stitching with waxed twine, the marbling on the endpapers is the same – ,"

Deakins interrupted Bobby with, "Ok, so the same person or persons made them, what else?"

Bobby glanced at his partner and then sat, "Uh, the owners reported that they purchased the books from three different sources. We're going to start those interviews Monday. That will –,"

Deakins rubbed his face and said, "How many more of these do you think are out there?"

Eames picked up with, "There's no way of telling. We've put out a notice to all known collectors of books of this type and we've notified the two collector's societies in the country. As more folks become aware of these forgeries and they begin to have theirs authenticated, it stands to reason that more will be showing up."

"Craig in tech is searching online for sites that deal in rare first editions. None of these owners purchased online, however," Bobby added.

Deakins glanced at his watch and said, "I have a meeting with the brass in ten. Look, the Commissioner happens to be one of those collectors and he wants these people found. I know this is your weekend off, but you two are going to have to work straight through. He wants this closed by Wednesday. Keep busy."

Bobby stood as the Captain stood, "Uh, Captain, I'm flying to Chicago this afternoon. To be with Gleason."

"I'm sorry, Bobby, this comes from the top," and he turned and left.

Bobby sat down hard, stunned. Eames watched him, expecting him to launch into a rage. Surprisingly, he didn't. Bobby checked his watch and pulled his cell. He punched a few numbers with his left thumb, stood and walked slowly toward his desk.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	9. Chapter 9

42

Designed Intent

Chapter 9

Sunday Evening

Bobby sat in the dark on the sofa in his apartment. He had just gotten home from working with Eames interviewing book collectors. Two more bogus first editions had surfaced over the weekend. Bobby sat in sweats and his undershirt with bare feet and a beer. He called Gleason's number and closed his eyes in satisfaction as she answered.

"Hi, Baby."

"Hi, Love," Gleason heard his resignation. Bobby had been so disappointed, as had she, when he called her Friday afternoon to tell her he had to work through the weekend.

"Did you enjoy the concert last night?" The Italian tenor, Marco Antonelli, had performed a concert Saturday night and Gleason had gotten tickets for the two of them. Bobby suggested she ask Willow Cheswick, a colleague of Gleason's, to go with her. Gleason had gone to the concert, but not with Willow.

"Oh, Bobby, it was wonderful. I wish you could have gone, though. You would have enjoyed it."

"I know, Sweetheart. I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

"Where are you and Alex on your cases? How are they going?"

"Two more forged first editions turned up. Eames and I interviewed the owners of all of them; one guy owns two of them. That jewelry heist has gone cold. Deakins is really upset about that."

Neither said anything for a long moment. Gleason knew he was going to ask, she knew it; and, he did, "Did Willow enjoy the concert?"

Gleason did not respond. He caught the hesitation. "Honey, did Willow enjoy it as much as you did?"

She still did not respond. "Gleason?"

They listened to each other breathe, and then Bobby knew. Son-of-a-bitch, he thought. He shut his eyes and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Willow didn't go with you, did she?"

"No," Gleason replied softly.

Bobby knew who went with her. Even so, he asked; he wanted to hear her say it. "Did you use my ticket?"

"Yes."

He waited. She said nothing. Then, "Gleason, who did you go with?"

Gleason sat on the sofa in her bungalow, her feet on the edge of the seat, her green throw around her shoulders. Oh, she did not want to tell him.

He waited and then said, "You went with Malcolm, didn't you?"

"Bobby, it wasn't anything. We just went and listened. The music was wonderful," she said in a rush.

A solid block settled in Bobby's chest. He knew it, goddamn it! That fucking son of a bitch will not leave her alone. And, what is she doing, letting him sniff around? Fuck!

"Bobby? Are, are you upset?" What a stupid thing to ask, she said to herself, of course he is upset. Gleason knew how Bobby felt about Malcolm. Bobby had nothing to worry about; Malcolm was a colleague, nothing more. Nevertheless, Gleason knew Malcolm was interested in her. He had made no bones about it. He was professional in a familiar way, but she knew. Malcolm was always about, he stood a wee bit close; he found reasons for them to discuss things, he always had his hand on her for some reason. And, his interest was increasing.

"Bobby?"

He had to wait until he could speak without losing it. Bobby worked hard to hold reign on his temper. Wait, wait, he told himself. Then, darkly, deeply he asked, "Did you go to dinner?"

"Bobby. . ."

"God damn it! Did you go to dinner?" he shouted into the phone.

Gleason jumped and pulled the phone away from her ear. She slammed shut her eyes and grimaced. Why had she asked Malcolm? Why? "Yes, we got something to eat. Bobby this was nothing but two colleagues –,"

He cut her off with, "Before or after the concert?"

"What?" she wasn't sure she heard him correctly.

"Did-you-go-to-dinner-before-or-after-the-concert?" he shot out the words.

Gleason did not want to continue this conversation. Nothing had happened. They had gone to dinner afterward, Malcolm brought her home, she left him at the door and that was that. He did call this morning wanting to get breakfast, but she had said no.

"Nothing happened. You don't trust me, do you?" Now she was pissed. "What do you think I am?" Gleason was on her feet. "I love you, Bobby, you know that. I love you and am dedicated to you. You have nothing to worry about." She was shaking.

She knew she should have never mentioned the ticket to Malcolm. Why had she done that? Gleason had told Bobby she was going to invite Willow to use the ticket, but had gone ahead and mentioned it to Malcolm. Malcolm said he loved Antonelli's music. They had talked about tenors and operas. It made perfect sense that Malcolm should use the ticket. It had not been a date. Had it?

Bobby sat hundreds of miles away, wanting to believe her. He had to believe her. He said nothing for a long minute. Then, "Honey. I'm, I'm sorry. Gleason, I'm sorry. I miss you; I want to be with you. I'm sorry." His voice was low.

She heard his sadness. "I love you, Bobby. I love you. You have nothing to worry about. Trust me; Malcolm is a colleague. He is a little persistent, like a puppy, but you have nothing to worry about. All right?"

God, he wanted to believe her. That bastard Malcolm was going to continue to sniff around. Bobby trusted Gleason; he did not trust Malcolm.

"Of course I believe you, Gleason. Forgive me. I, I just love you and miss you."

"I know, Love. I miss you, too." They sat quietly for a bit.

"Honey, I want to come up this next weekend. I'll get a ticket and I'll come up. I'll take Friday off; I can come up Thursday night, and come home Monday night. We'll have a nice, long weekend. What do you think?"

"Bobby, it will be too expensive, to get a ticket at this late date. Let's wait. I have a ticket and I'll come home, not this coming weekend, but the next weekend. It will be good to sleep next to you in our bed. Ok?"

"That will mean I won't see you for four weeks." He could not wait that long. "No, Sweetheart, I need to see you. I'm coming up Thursday night. It will be nice." Bobby was getting excited. He really should not be taking the time off; he had neither personal days nor sick days, but he did not care.

"Bobby, be reasonable, this coming weekend is your regular weekend to work. You cannot take off any days, especially on a work weekend; besides, you have no days left to take. Stay home, I'll come home the following weekend when you are off and we'll have time together then."

Bobby sat with his eyes shut tight. He knew it; he knew it! She is not going to come home, she likes living alone in Evanston. He felt the anger begin. He gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles were white. Bobby fought the urge to throw the phone across the room.

"Love? Bobby, please don't be angry. These things are going to happen; you know that. You said we have to make this work if it's going to work. Remember?"

He couldn't respond right away. Gleason heard him breathe through his nose; she knew he was struggling to keep control. She waited silently.

"Gleason, I don't know if I can do this," he whispered, a tremor in his voice. Finally, the tears squeezed between his shut eyelids. She heard him sniff.

"Oh, Bobby, Love, don't, don't do this. Please." It was her turn to comfort him. "Dearheart, I love you. Why are you so upset? Are you worried about me? I know you miss me. I miss you and I know how that feels. But, Bobby, something else is bothering you. What is it, Sweet? What's wrong?"

And then it all poured out, everything. He told her he worried about her health, her heart, what if something happened to her and he wasn't there to save her. He worried about her safety; Bobby was still haunted by the shooting at Brookbine that nearly took her life. How could he be sure she wouldn't be attacked walking to her car at night? That someone wouldn't break into her apartment and hurt her? He wasn't there to keep her safe.

And, he told her about his concern about her and Malcolm. Bobby told Gleason he knew what Malcolm's intentions were. He had known when Malcolm and he were introduced at the dinner in Gleason's honor. Bobby could see the man's desire for his woman. He wasn't there to keep Malcolm away. He told her he felt powerless.

Gleason listened and never felt so loved. "Bobby, Dearheart, you cannot protect me every minute of every day. I will be fine. You will make yourself sick worrying so. Please, Love, trust me that I will be well. I will be safe. I'm not foolish about these things, you know that." She was very glad she had not told him about the spell she had while walking to campus last Tuesday morning.

"I know, I know." He sounded defeated.

"As for Malcolm, Bobby, you have nothing to worry about. Nothing. I am dedicated to you, Love. Malcolm is a colleague, nothing else. You are my one and only. You have nothing to fear. I love _you_. And will forever." Gleason listened to him breathe and hitch a sob. "Are you ok?"

"Yes. I just love you so much, Gleason."

"I know, Love. I am lucky to have you. Not many couples have what we have." They listened to each other breathe and then Gleason said, "Sweet, we should both go to bed, did you have some dinner?"

"No, I just got home before I called you. I have a beer. Did you get dinner?"

"I'm going to have a salad and some soup. What will you have?"

"I don't know. I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat something, Bobby; you cannot just have beer for God's sake."

He smiled at this, "I will. I'll get a sandwich or something. I love you, Honey. So, so much."

"I love you too, forever. Get something to eat and then rest. Ok? I'll speak with you tomorrow. How about if I call you in the morning, early? We can have morning phone sex?"

He heard the smile in her voice and knew she was trying to lighten him, "You better not be teasing me. I love you, Honey; I'll talk with you in the morning. Bye-bye."

"Bye-bye, Love."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	10. Chapter 10

45

Designed Intent

Chapter 10

Their Third Week Apart

Monday morning

"Dr. Wintermantle?"

Gleason looked up and saw Imogene at the door, holding a vase of mixed flowers. "Oh, my. Are those for me?"

Imogene blushed and said, "Yes. Somebody really likes you!"

Gleason stood, came around her desk and took the vase. The flowers were extraordinary. A variety of wildflowers filled the cut glass vase. She took them from the student assistant and set them on her desk. "Thank you, Imogene."

The student really wanted to know who had sent them; however, she knew a dismissal when she heard it, she turned and walked away. Gleason was so excited – she could get used to this, she thought. Bobby had sent her a bouquet on the first day of classes. It was the first time she had ever gotten flowers at work. It made her feel like a princess. Men have no idea how wonderful such a small thing can be. Those flowers had astounded her; they were so unexpected.

And here, he has done it again. He is sorry for the argument last night on the phone, she thought smiling inside and out. She took the tiny envelope from the forked stick that held it. She opened it and withdrew the small card and read, "Thanks for the great time; am looking forward to more. Malcolm." Oh. My. God.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"May I speak with Dr. Conway, please?"

"Whom shall I say is calling?"

"Gleason Wintermantle."

"One moment."

"Gleason! Do you like them?"

"Malcolm," she was uncertain as to what to say next. "Malcolm, they are lovely. But totally unnecessary."

"But you like them, eh?"

"Yes, yes. They are lovely. But, Malcolm, I, I wish you hadn't bothered."

"Why? You gave me a delightful night out. It is the least I can do. I hoped you like wildflowers. They suit you, I thought. I was right, eh?"

"Malcolm. I am flattered. But, please . . . don't do it again. Please. It's, it's not, appropriate. You understand."

Malcolm Conway knew it was a risk, sending the flowers. He was treading a fine line here. The university had a strict policy concerning fraternization between staff and staff and staff and students. He had to be careful. Although, Old Man Manlowe probably would not mind, he was an old romantic. However, Malcolm and Maeve were still legally married. Separated, but still married.

Malcolm did not reply right away. Gleason listened and waited. Finally, he said softly, "Gleason, I apologize if I upset you. That certainly was not my intent. I am sorry. I just wanted to say thank you."

Gleason knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to make her feel bad so that she would feel the need to stroke his male ego. She knew he was trying to get her to disparage herself and then say something about him being such a nice guy. Well, he was wrong. "I accepted your thanks at the end of the concert Saturday night. And, I accept your apology now. I don't have to worry about this again, do I, now that we understand each other?" Oh, that was sharp, nice and sharp.

Malcolm felt the sting. This had not gone as he had anticipated. "Ok, then. Thanks again for the concert ticket. I'll see you." Malcolm hung up. Damn it, he wanted to get close to Gleason. She was something.

Gleason hung up and looked at the flowers and smiled, they were magnificent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday Evening

Gleason turned from the sink at the sound of her phone. She had no landline, only her cell. She checked the number with a smile on her face, fully expecting to see the number in New York. Her smile disappeared; it wasn't Bobby.

She saw who it was and considered not answering. He will not quit, she said to herself. Do not answer it; do not. "Hello?"

"Gleason, I want to come over and explain everything. I want to apologize for everything."

Gleason shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "Malcolm that is not a good idea; I thought we settled this on the phone this afternoon. Don't come over here."

Malcolm knew she would not have him over. "I understand. At least let me buy you dinner. Let's go get something to eat. You have to eat. How about it, will you have dinner with me?"

She was silent for a long minute; he will not stop, she thought. "No. Do not call me anymore. Good bye, Malcolm," and she clicked off. Gleason sat on the sofa, missing Bobby more than ever.

She hit speed dial one and listened to the phone go to voice mail. "Hi Love, it's me. I miss you. Hope your day went well. Call me when you can. I love you. Forever."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malcolm sat simmering. You are just pushing her away, he said to himself. Leave her alone. You need to be careful, do not let her think you are stalking her, or harassing her. Leave her be for a few days. Leave her be, laddie. She will come around, but leave her be for now.

He looked at his watch; Maeve would be getting Gus ready for bed soon. Maybe he would head over there and be a good daddy to his son, be there for bedtime, tuck him in. Then, maybe he would be a good hubby to his wife, be there for bedtime, and fuck her a good one. Malcolm reached for his jacket and keys.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	11. Chapter 11

48

Designed Intent

Chapter 11

Late Wednesday Night

Bobby prowled around his apartment. He couldn't stop thinking of her. They had talked for nearly an hour. Their talk drifted to the bedroom and all the potential that room holds. He wanted her. He wanted her bad, right now. God, he hated when he got like this. He felt like he was fourteen and horny as hell.

Go to the gym and work it off, he told himself. Yeah, go to the gym. Oh, wait, that girl might be there. That girl who wanted him to . . . he almost did, but had not. She was always there and she always smiled and gave him that look. He knew he could have her anytime he wanted. No, he did not need to be tempted tonight. He wanted Gleason. Oh, oh, oh – if she was here. . . Bobby got another beer and sat in the dark and thought of her.

In his mind's eye saw her beauty, felt her skin, smelled her hair. He watched her heart pulse under the skin at that place on her neck; he put his mouth on it and felt it throb against his tongue. He inhaled her musk, that subtle scent she gets when she is wet for him.

Bobby shifted in his chair; he was getting hard. He set his left leg over the arm of his chair and leaned back, making more room.

He closed his eyes and saw her lying beside him. Her long, lean body curved sensuously – her right arm bent at the elbow, hand tucked under her pillow; her left arm lay across her flat, soft stomach, her left leg lay easily across her right. He saw her hair spray across her pillow and around her shoulders in a red mist.

Bobby's hand moved to his erection and he adjusted himself; he rubbed slowly, lightly.

His eyes traveled her length, from her blue, blue eyes down her long neck to her small, round, just-enough breasts. He put his mouth on one and felt her nipple harden against his tongue, his lips; his teeth pulled it. He heard her moan softly, deeply in her throat, the way she does when it is good, especially good.

Bobby's hand undid his button and lowered his zipper. He slipped his hand inside his boxers and took hold of himself. Ah, god, good. Slowly his hand moved along his length, slowly, softly. The way he liked.

He saw himself lay beside her, he pulled her close, felt her warmth. Her breath was hot against his neck. And fast. His hand moved to her face and his mouth took hers. His tongue flicked against her lips and she opened slightly. His tongue slid inside and her whole body responded. She moved closer against him. Her tongue met his.

Bobby shifted up, pushed down his jeans and pulled himself free. Ah, there, better. His hand cupped his thickness and slowly slid up and down, his thumb barely pressing his girth into his fingers. His breath came faster.

His finger moved against her mouth and her tongue licked the end, then the length. He gasped and pushed through her lips. She licked and sucked his finger as she had licked and sucked his cock. He wanted to fuck her mouth with his finger. He wanted to fuck her mouth with his cock.

Bobby's right hand reached for his beer and he took a long swig. He set down the bottle and his left hand tightened around himself slightly, his mouth opened. A nearly silent moan escaped.

She moved against him, there, down there. Her left leg crossed his right hip and she pressed her nest against him. He heard her whisper, "Touch me." His hand moved down her back to her hip and he rolled her easily onto her back. His hand slid to her flat stomach, his fingers played in her red bush. She opened to him; he inhaled her musk. He bent and kissed her, his tongue diving into her mouth. At the same moment, he slid his middle finger up into her wetness. She gasped and rose to meet his hand. She was hot and swollen. So wet.

Bobby's fingers closed around his girth and pulled just a bit as he rubbed up and down, stretching himself a little. His thumb lingered at his tip, rubbing the head, flicking his tiny slit, coaxing a drop of cum. He milked the head and felt a wet drop. He smeared it over the tip. Ah, ah, good.

His open mouth moved to her breast, covering the whole end – nipple and everything around it. He sucked hard, wanting to devour her. She groaned and moved under his hand and mouth. His finger slid all the way up and he flicked it back and forth. So tight, hot. His tongue flicked her nipple in time with his finger. So tight, hard. Her breath came faster. He slowly, slowly withdrew his finger. His thumb rubbed her clit.

Bobby's thumb milked his tip again. He squeezed, wanting – needing – more cum. He wanted to go fast now and he needed to be wet. He took the last third of his length, pulling and pressing between his thumb and fingers, pushing his cum to the end. He had to stroke a bit, and then squeeze. Come on. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. Come on. He jerked slightly, a wee bit squirted onto his fingers, ah, ah, good, good! He smeared his cum up and down his penis; he was huge, he knew it. It felt good, so good.

He pushed his thumb inside her. He pulled it out, flicked her clit, and pushed it in, slowly, so slowly. She pushed against his hand. He watched her. Her eyes closed tight, her mouth open. He saw her tongue move as though licking him. God, what a sight! He had to be inside her mouth. "Honey, eat me," he whispered. Her eyes opened and she sat up as he lay down. She knelt between his open legs and took in his whole length. Uh, unh!

Bobby's hand quickened on himself, oh, god! His hand slid up and down. He held tight. His thumb pressed himself into his fingers as he rubbed. Oh, god! He reversed his hand and grasped himself fully, fingers over the top and around, his thumb rubbing underneath. Oh, god, yeah, like that, yeah. Ungh!

He watched her suck him. Her mouth was as hot and wet as her pussy. Oh, god! She dragged her tongue up and down his underside. Her sweet tongue was soft and tender in his mouth, but soft and rough and tender and hard against his cock. She sucked the end. He pushed up into her mouth, careful not to gag her. She took in more, and more. Oh, god, god! She moaned around his length and he shuddered, lifting his back from the bed. Ungh, ungh! Oh, oh, god. His hands went into her hair and he held her head. He pumped up and pulled down, fucking her mouth. Ungh, ungh, ungh!

Bobby squeezed hard as his rubbed faster and faster. He rubbed the end and smeared more cum. Oh, oh, he was close. His hips moved in the chair. His legs opened wider.

She hummed again, and again, vibrating her lips and tongue around him. He was close. He wanted to come in her mouth. He had never done that, come in her mouth. He wanted to. God, he wanted to this time. Do it, fuck her mouth. Do it! Ungh, ungh, he was going to come. Oh, oh, ungh!

Bobby grunted short sounds as his hand slid faster, tighter. He was going to come. Now, now!

He pushed her head down and slammed up into her mouth, down into her throat. She sucked hard and he shot into her hot wetness. He bucked up and growled out loud – ungh, ungh, oh, gaaawwdd!

Bobby growled aloud and bent forward, his right hand flew to cup his tip as his hot cum jetted out in short spurts. His body jerked in time with his penis. Oh, god! He drew ragged breaths. His right fist was full of drippy cream. Jesus. He sat for a long moment, catching his breath. Oh, god that was good. So good.

Bobby rubbed himself with his right hand. Slippery, sticky. He cupped his sack and wiped his hand over it. Then he moved his left leg and stood up, reaching for his jeans and boxers. He pulled them up and wiped the rest of his smear on the pant leg.

The apartment was dark, except for the light over the sink. He held up his jeans and walked down the hall, stopping in the bathroom to pee and turn on the shower. In the bedroom, he stepped out of his pants and tossed them into the basket on the closet floor. He toed out of his socks and pulled off his undershirt, throwing it all into the basket. He walked naked around the corner back into the bathroom

The water felt so good. Palms flat on the back wall, he leaned and the water beat on him. After a few luxurious moments, Bobby pushed himself upright and took the bar of soap. He started with his hair and worked down; face, neck, arms, pits, chest, stomach – there, there.

It felt good, his hand cleaning himself. Gleason had done this for him, when they would shower together, she always wanted to and she always played a bit. God, what that woman could do to make him feel like a man. Bobby slowed his hand, remembering. The soap made his hand slippery, smooth on his flaccid length. He gripped, slid and pulled. Ahhh, yeah.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	12. Chapter 12

54

Designed Intent

Chapter 12

Friday night

"Do you want lettuce on your sandwich?"

"That would be good. Where did you put that report from BSAS?"

Gleason licked mustard from her finger as she turned and pointed to the short, two-drawer file cabinet that doubled as a table next to the upholstered chair, "It's there, on top of the file cabinet, under that folder."

He looked, moved several things and said, "I can't find it."

"It's right there." She set the sandwiches on the table and crossed to where Malcolm stood. She reached around him, picked up the top folder, and used it to tap on the stapled sheets below it. "Here, right where I said."

Gleason turned and Malcolm took her by the arms and kissed her. His lips were tender on hers. The move shocked her. Malcolm's hands traveled from her arms to her back and pulled her close. His tongue slid against her lips. The sound of a key in the door and it opening stopped whatever was next.

"Sweetheart," Bobby said as he stepped through the doorway. Malcolm stepped away, turned and walked to the sink; no one needed to see his bump in front.

Gleason spun and her hand went to her mouth. "Bobby!" She crossed the small room and reached for him.

Bobby knew immediately what had just happened. He stopped dead, eyes moving from her face to the other man, standing at the sink. Bobby set down his bag and pushed his hands into his coat pockets. He did not say anything.

"Bobby, you're here!" She reached for his face, wanting to kiss him. Bobby stepped back and tilted his head away from her.

"How about if I finish part one and then talk with you about it next week? Will that work?" Malcolm said to Gleason as he retrieved his jacket from where it lay over the back of a chair. She turned and nodded. Malcolm walked toward the door and Bobby stepped aside to let the man pass. He pulled open the door and Malcolm stopped, turned and said to Gleason, "Have a great weekend." He left without ever looking at Bobby.

Bobby shut the door and Gleason stepped to him, "Bobby, what a surprise! Why didn't you –" Bobby cut her off holding up both hands in front of his chest, palms out. He shut his eyes and sidestepped away from her. He still had not said a word.

Gleason watched him begin to pace. "Bobby, we were working," she said softly. "We're writing an article." She watched him prowl, she knew he was angry. "Say something, please."

His mind ran with what had just happened. He was looking at the floor when he walked in, so he had not seen anything. When he looked up, he saw Gleason turn and Malcolm walk toward the sink. He had not seen anything, but the guilt flooding the room told him everything he suspected. Bobby could not draw a deep breath.

Gleason went to him and took his arm. "Bobby, stop. Stop. Bobby, look at me." She pulled on his arm and he stopped. "Dearheart, talk to me. Bobby, we were working. We want to get this article –"

"Don't Gleason. Just . . . just don't. I know what happened. He kissed you, didn't he?" Bobby could barely look at her. He shot her sidelong looks, his face dark with anger.

She took a step back. Oh, God, he saw us, she thought. Gleason crossed her arms in front of her chest, hands clutching her upper arms.

Bobby turned and yelled, "Tell me! Did he kiss you?"

Gleason flinched and ducked away from him, expecting him to strike her. He caught sight of the table and saw the two sandwiches, the two wine glasses. He felt heat, as he never had. He was at the table in one stride and swept his arm across the top – plates, glasses, food flew.

Gleason turned and huddled on the couch. She covered her face with her hands and mewled. She began to shake.

Bobby was out of control. "Have you slept with him? ANSWER ME! Have you slept with him?!"

Gleason jumped up from the couch, grabbed her keys from the table by the door and dashed out, slamming the door behind her. She was nearly to the car when Bobby grabbed her arm from behind and hauled her to a stop. "Goddamn it, stop! Gleason, stop!"

She turned and cowered. "Don't hit me. Please. Don't hit me," she whimpered.

Bobby pulled her to him and enveloped her in his arms. "Oh God, Gleason, I would never hit you. Honey, never." He felt her shake.

She pushed away from him and he had to let her go. "Go back to New York!" she hissed. "Go! Get away from me!" She turned and started back to the apartment door.

"Gleason, wait. Gleason!" Oh, Jesus, he thought, what have I done? What have I done? Bobby caught her at the door, his hand on the knob before hers. He opened it, she entered, and he followed shutting the door behind him.

Gleason walked into the bedroom and turned to shut the French doors. Bobby followed her, stopping the doors before they closed. She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, sobbing. He took a step toward her and she shot up, backing away. "Get away from me! Get away!"

He thought he was going to be sick. "Gleason, please. Honey. Gleason," he took a step toward her, reaching for her. She backed into the night table and stepped around it.

"Don't touch me. Get away!"

The sight of her backing along the wall, terrified of him, stopped his heart and his mind. Bobby stopped and he dropped his arms. He did not know what to say. He did not know what to do. He could barely breathe. He raised both arms and stretched them out at his sides.

"Ok, ok. I, I won't touch you," his voice was soft and breathy, "Listen to me. Gleason, listen. Honey, I, I'm sorry." Both hands went to his head. He held his head, looking at the floor. "Gleason, I love you so much. I went crazy thinking that he, that he kissed you. Forgive me. Honey, dear God, forgive me." Bobby looked up at her.

Gleason was in the corner, arms across her chest. She reached up and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Sobs shook her body, and that weight began on her chest. "Why, why are you here?" she hitched.

"I wanted to surprise you. I haven't seen you for three weeks. I miss you. I, I wanted to surprise you," he answered softly. They looked at each other, not moving, not speaking.

"You frightened me," she whispered.

"Oh, God, Gleason, I know, I know. Honey, I am so sorry. I went nuts. I am sorry. I love you and I went crazy."

He took a tentative step toward her. Gleason's left arm was upright on her chest, between her breasts. She didn't move but for the hitched sobs. "Honey, come here. Please." He held out his arms. "Gleason, please."

She was still afraid of him. She had never seen him like that. She honestly thought he would strike her. Clive had beaten her and she could not allow that to happen again. No one would ever hurt her again. She had not thought that Bobby was capable of hurting her; perhaps she had been wrong. She shook her head 'no.'

His arms dropped, his shoulders fell. "Ok. It's ok." Bobby turned and left the bedroom. He stood in the living room for a minute and then removed his jacket, tossing it on the sofa. He crossed to the kitchen and began to pick up the broken glass and sandwich parts.

Gleason remained in the corner. Slowly, her sobs abated. She was so tired. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply and the weight on her chest lifted. Finally, she returned to the bed, picked up her green throw and drew it around her. She considered lying down on the bed, but figured Bobby would come and lay beside her – she did not want him near her.

She walked into the living room and sat in the one upholstered chair, pulling up her feet, leaning her head on the high back. The chair faced the window over the sofa; her back was to the kitchen. Gleason listened as Bobby dropped pieces of broken china and crystal into the waste bin from under the sink. She heard him use the hand broom to sweep the rest into the dustpan and tap it into the bin. She heard him finish and then wash his hands.

He came around her chair and sat forward on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, fingers laced. He glanced at her and she studied him, not trusting him yet. Finally, Bobby said softly, "Honey, I'm sorry. Forgive me. Please. Gleason, forgive me."

She looked at him and said nothing. After several minutes, Bobby stood up and said, "Ok. I'm going to stay in a hotel near O'Hare. I'll stand by for the first flight back to New York." He looked at her with such sadness. After everything, after every goddamn thing we have been through, this is what ends it, he thought, you fucking idiot.

"I love you Gleason. You know that. You know that I would never hurt you, ever. I was angry and I lost control. I thought he kissed you. I'm sorry, Honey. I, I just love you so much."

He stood looking at the floor; she sat looking at the window. The silence boomed. Bobby stole glances at Gleason. He wanted to stoop in front of her, make her look at him; make her see his remorse. She sat wanting to go to bed, her chest felt heavy again and she was so, so tired.

With tremendous resignation, Bobby picked up his jacket from the sofa, slipped it on. "I need the phone book. Where is it?"

Gleason did not respond. She loved him. In spite of his temper, she loved him.

"Gleason, where's the phone book? I need to call a cab."

"I don't have one. I didn't get a land line, so I didn't get a phone book."

He crossed back to the sofa and sat. He did not want to ask, but he had to, "Do you want to drive me into the city?"

She looked at him and shook her head no. They stared at each other, then he asked so softly, "Do you want me to stay?" Gleason hesitated a moment and then nodded. Suddenly, Bobby could breathe. He buried a hitch and wiped his face with his hands. He stood and slipped off his jacket once more and crossed to her chair. He reached his hand toward her and Gleason set her feet on the floor; she stood up, hugging her green throw around herself.

Bobby's arms took her; he held her and whispered into her hair, "God, I love you, Gleason. I love you so much. I will love you forever and ever. Don't ever leave me. Promise you won't ever leave me." She leaned back to look at his face, she put a hand on his cheek and kissed him. He returned the kiss, a soft, tender, chaste kiss. They stood and held each other for a long time. Bobby held her tight. He vowed he would never allow that to happen again, no matter what.


	13. Chapter 13

57

Designed Intent

Chapter 13

Friday Night

"Are you hungry?" she asked against his chest.

"No."

"I'm glad you came, Bobby. I couldn't believe it when I saw you at the door."

He wanted to ask her about what had happened. He needed to know; but he already knew. Bobby had recognized the guilt on her face. He had caught a glimpse of Malcolm's move away from her. Malcolm had never looked at Bobby, afraid he would give away his guilt.

"I have to go back Sunday night."

"I know."

He looked down at her and she looked up at him. "Gleason, you know I love you. Don't you? You know I will always love you."

"I know, Love, I know."

She had responded with the nondescript response that had caused them trouble in the early days of their relationship. She did not say she loved him. He searched her eyes. What did he do?

"Do you love me? Gleason, do you love me?" He could not hide the desperation in his voice.

She looked at Bobby and said softly, "I love you, Bobby, but I worry about you. I fear what your temper will make you do someday. I was afraid of you."

Bobby let go of her and stepped away. He put his face in his hands and then he walked to the kitchen and leaned on the sink. He felt like a caged animal. He turned on the spigot and pulled up his sleeves. He bent and splashed water on his face. She watched him, wondering.

He straightened and wiped his face with the tea towel. He leaned on the sink, looking out at the darkness, his back to her, and said, "I don't want him here. I don't want him near you."

"Bobby, we work together."

He turned and leaned against the sink, facing her. He wanted to ask if they had kissed. He knew they had, but he wanted to ask her. He wanted to hear her say it. He looked at her and then crossed to her. "Did he kiss you?"

Gleason looked away sharply and pulled her throw tighter. "Bobby."

He reached for her, held her arms, bent to look into her face, and asked again, "Did he kiss you?"

Gleason did not look at him. Finally, she whispered, "Aye."

"What else has he done?" She tried to pull away, he held onto her, "Tell me what else he has done."

She had no choice but to say, "He sent me flowers."

"What else?"

"He invites me to dinner and to breakfast." She looked up at him, "I've never gone, Bobby; just the once after, after the concert. I know it was wrong. I should have asked Willow as I said I would. I was wrong. I gave Malcolm the wrong idea. I'm sorry."

"What else has he done?"

"Nothing."

He needed to ask this next question. He knew he should not, he knew he should not. Do not ask, he said to himself, you know the answer; you know she would not do that. Do not ask her. Do not! But he did, "Gleason . . . Gleason, have you, have you . . . slept with him?"

She stared up at him and it all became clear, he did not trust her. She said nothing, just looked at him. She would have slapped him if she had not been so tired. Instead, she pulled free of his hands and stepped back.

"You need to leave. Get your jacket, I'll drive you to O'Hare," she said flatly.

"No. No, no Gleason. No. Honey, I'm sorry."

She dropped her throw on the chair, crossed to the closet and took her wrap. She picked up her bag and pulled her keys from her pocket.

Bobby watched her with a rising panic. "No. Gleason, I'm not going. Let me stay. Honey, please. I'm sorry. Gleason."

She turned at the door and said, "I'm going to start the car."

Bobby stepped to the door and put his hand on it, holding it shut. "No. Stay, Gleason I want to stay. Please. Honey. Jesus Christ, Gleason, I want to stay. Don't do this."

Oh, she was so tired. Her body felt so heavy, her bag weighed a ton. And then, she didn't care about anything. He didn't trust her; he would never trust her. Why bother?

"Then stay. I don't care." She stepped away from the door, pulled off her wrap and threw it and her bag onto the sofa. She walked to the kitchen and turned off the light. She went into the bedroom and shut the French doors.

Bobby stood and watched her move. Oh, he had made a terrible mistake. How could he think she would do such a thing? Bobby picked up her wrap and hung it in the closet. He set her bag in there as well. Then, he sat on the sofa as he had earlier, forward, elbows on knees, fingers laced, looking at the floor.

Several minutes later, Gleason came through the bedroom doors and went into the bathroom. He looked up, waiting for her to emerge. He heard the toilet flush and the water run. The bathroom door opened and Gleason crossed to the kitchen sink. She filled a glass with water and headed back to the bedroom.

Bobby stood up and said, "I want to sleep with you, Gleason. Let me sleep with you."

She stopped, looked at him, went into the bedroom and shut the doors. He dropped to the sofa and sat with his head in his hands.

Gleason changed into her nightgown and got into bed. She pulled up her throw and lay under the covers, wide-awake, and thinking. How could he think I would ever sleep with another man? How could he? He does not trust me. I have never given him reason to doubt me; except for the concert, maybe, and the kiss tonight. But Malcolm kissed me. I did not kiss him. I did not return his kiss. She considered a moment, and then thought, would I have returned it if Bobby had not arrived? Gleason realized she did not know if she would have or not.

Bobby tried to stretch out on the sofa. It was shorter than the one at home, much shorter. He lay with his left leg bent and his foot on the cushion and his right foot on the floor, his left forearm across his forehead. I knew better than to ask her that, he screamed at himself. I know she would not do that. She would never sleep with another man. She loves me. She does. Nevertheless, she kissed him. She admitted that. It's him, it's that fucking Malcolm. He will not leave her alone – sending her flowers, asking her out. Jesus Christ, he knows she and I are together. Bastard.

Gleason slowly fell asleep. Bobby stayed awake, hating himself. After nearly two hours, Bobby went to the bathroom and then opened one of the bedroom doors. He saw her bundled form on her side of the bed. He entered and closed the door softly and crossed to his side of the bed. He stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Carefully, he pulled back the covers and eased himself into the bed. Gleason sighed, shifted, and then settled.

Bobby stretched out beside her. How he wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her, make love to her. But he did none of that. He breathed in her cinnamon scent, he felt her radiating heat, and he heard her slow, steady breathing. Slowly, Bobby fell asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	14. Chapter 14

61

Designed Intent

Chapter 14

Saturday Morning

Bobby woke having to pee. He turned and looked at Gleason over his shoulder. She was sound asleep. He looked past her to the clock, seven-forty. He stepped into his jeans, zipped, walked to the living room to retrieve his toiletries, and went into the bathroom.

He flushed, washed his face, brushed his teeth; but he did not shave, Gleason liked his whiskers. He set his kit on the back of the toilet and went to the kitchen.

Bobby set the kettle to boil and prepared the tea. He pulled open her tiny fridge and found nothing of any use. What does this woman eat, he wondered. They would have to go out for breakfast. He was hungry.

The sound of the kettle screaming in Gleason's dream pierced though the sleep and woke her. Then she realized that the screaming kettle was in the kitchen, not in her dream. She stretched and remembered Bobby. A part of her was empty inside. She wanted to be excited that he was here; she loved him, she would always love him. But he didn't trust her; he thought she was a whore. That thought knocked away her breath; a whore. The empty place inside filled with sadness.

Bobby was in the living room, digging through his bag for underwear, socks and a shirt when the kettle started. He dropped the boxers and socks, dashed to the stove and grabbed the kettle. He poured the boiling water into the teapot and set aside the kettle. He placed the lid on the pot and turned to see if the whistle had woken her. She stood at the open bedroom door.

Gleason could not believe how sexy Bobby looked. He was barefoot and bare chested, wearing her favorite jeans, the ones that were a wee bit baggy and loose and hung low; the ones he wore with no belt. His bare chest and muscled arms appeared massive and his mussed hair showed his curls. His whiskers, oh, that face.

Bobby could not make steady eye contact with her; he would glance at her, then glance down, away. She was lovely in her light green nightgown. It hung straight to her ankles; it skimmed over her breasts and draped her curves when she moved. She had pulled her hair back in a loose knot.

She looked at him steadily and saw his contrition as he shuffled in place. Oh, she wanted him. She crossed to him and he watched her. Tentatively, his hands reached for her, but did not touch her. He wanted to, but was afraid he would do something wrong.

Gleason stood in front of him and put her palms on his bare chest. Bobby hitched a breath. Her fingers traced through the thin spray of silvering curls. She ran her palms softly over his shoulders, along his upper arms, savoring the feel of muscles under his smooth, warm skin.

Slowly, cautiously, he took her arms. She stepped closer and her hands traveled to his face. She pulled his head to hers and kissed him deeply. Bobby embraced her, enveloping her completely. His mouth opened on hers, his tongue lapping hers. He rose against her and she felt herself swell.

"Oh, God, Gleason, I love you. Honey, I love you. I am sorry. I am so sorry," he whispered deeply into her hair.

Gleason took his hand, turned and led him into the bedroom. At the bed, she shed her nightgown and he shucked off his jeans. Bobby threw back the sheet and blanket and she lay down. He was on her in a heartbeat. His hands traveled her body from her face to her nest. His mouth took in every part of her. His member bore against her inner thigh. She reached for him and grasped tenderly, running her hand up and down.

Bobby moaned and his breathing quickened. His finger found her nub. He pressed it, rubbed it, and slid inside her hot wetness. She hissed in breath and uttered a deep moan.

"In me, go inside. Now, inside," she breathed against his neck. Bobby rose to his knees, pushed her legs wide open and spread his legs between hers. He smelled her musk, she wants me, he thought, she wants _me_. He pulled her toward him, slipped one arm under her bottom, and lifted her hips.

"Put me in you," he said deeply. She wrapped her hand around his girth and placed the head at her opening. She rubbed him against herself; his head was large, round and full. God, it felt good, rubbing, smearing!

Bobby pushed and she let go. He pushed all the way and she moaned through an open mouth. He filled her all the way up, packing her. Bobby tensed and issued a slow, deep groan. He lay over her, filling her, not moving. He wanted to be inside her, he wanted to be a part of her; he wanted them to be one, a single entity.

Gleason felt her inner walls push apart. She was so full with him. He was all the way up! Oh, god, he was huge inside her, so good, so good! She gently tightened around him. She relaxed around him. She tightened. He is so big! In her mind's eye, she saw his long, thick penis inside her. She could see what she felt – oh, God!

Bobby's head dipped between her head and neck. Oh, Jesus, oh, god! It felt like she was sucking him inside her. Oh, god. He didn't move, he didn't pull out or push further. He stayed inside, stuffing her. She squeezed and relaxed, squeezed, relaxed. She was sucking him inside! Ugh, ugh!

Gleason continued to squeeze and let go, squeeze and let go. God he is big, so round, hard, long! She gripped him faster and began to move under him.

"Fuck me. Do it. Fuck me," she whispered desperately.

Bobby looked at her, his mouth took hers, his tongue dove through her lips and his hips began to pump. He pulled out and slammed back in. He pulled out and slammed back in, he pistoned in and out. Desperation, more than passion, fueled his moves.

She was hot, tight and wet. So tight, so wet. God she was hot! He slid out and shoved in. Over and over, faster and faster. Short, hard sounds came from deep in Gleason's throat. She flew to the edge. She was going to come. Now, now, ungh, ungh!

Her sounds pushed Bobby there. Each time he hit the cap of her inside, he let out a deep, long grunt. Gleason's body jolted with each of his shoves, he pushed that hard. Ugh, ungh, uungh, oh gaawwdd! Bobby slammed up into her and he exploded, jetting hot streams of cum up deep against her cap. Gleason growled out her orgasm, jamming herself up against him, grabbing his back, pulling him into her.

They lay a moment, gasping, hearts pounding. Gleason's mind ran wild with all sorts of thoughts. It was so good; oh, it was so good. But suddenly, her face crumpled and she began to cry. She could not help it, she cried.

Bobby heard her and felt her and he jolted up onto his elbow, "What's wrong! Gleason, Honey, what? Did I hurt you?" She rolled away from him and covered her face. Bobby was at a loss. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? Gleason, tell me." He tried to roll her toward him, but she shrugged him off. Bobby scuttled over her and sat beside her.

"Gleason, look at me." Her crying slowed. He smoothed her hair away from her face. She shuddered a few sobs and wiped her face with her hand. Then she looked up at him. "Baby, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" he asked so softly.

She shuddered another sob, sighed and said, "No."

He looked at her, not understanding what had happened. "Then why are you crying?"

Gleason rolled back to look at him better. "It was so good, just now. I have missed you so much, Bobby. But, but after I came, I, I remembered what you thought I had done with Malcolm." Her face crumpled again and she sobbed out, "I didn't sleep with him. I'm not a whore. I'm not a whore, Bobby." And then she dissolved into tears.

"Oh dear god, Gleason. Honey, I know. I know you didn't sleep with him." His heart was ripping from his chest as he leaned down to her. "I am so sorry. Honey, I am sorry."

Gleason cried out loud. He held her as best he could. I have hurt her so badly, he thought.


	15. Chapter 15

68

Designed Intent

Chapter 15

Saturday Midmorning

"Bobby, let's do something tonight. Let's go out. The Theatre Arts Department is doing "The Crucible." Do you want to go?"

Bobby handed her a mug of tea, kissed her forehead and said, "Whatever you want, I want. What time?"

Gleason checked the paper, "Curtain is at eight. We could get dinner beforehand. Or after." She looked at him, as would a child. He saw her excitement and smiled. This would make her happy; he would do anything to make her happy.

"All right, we'll go. Speaking of dinner, Honey I am starving. You have no food here. Gleason, what do you eat? Good grief, woman."

Gleason smiled and did not want to say that she had used the last of the bread, lettuce, cheese and tomatoes on the sandwiches she had made last night for Malcolm and herself. "I know. I'm low on everything; I was going to get groceries today anyway." She took a sip of her tea and closed her eyes; Bobby made it just right.

"Here, let's have graham crackers with our tea." She went to a cupboard over the counter and removed a box.

Bobby sipped his tea and watched her. This is the way it should be, he thought, just the two of us, together forever.

Gleason returned to the small table and sat across from him. He watched Gleason open the box and unwrap a package of crackers. She took one, broke it in half and dunked it into her tea for a mere second, then swooped it to her mouth. "Here have one," she said around the mush in her mouth, "It's good."

Bobby took one, broke it as she had and dunked it into his tea and pulled out half of the cracker. Gleason laughed, "Oh, you left it in too long. It's slush on the bottom of your cup now."

He looked at her and said, "Let's go get some real food." He stood, took her cup and his to the sink, dumped and rinsed them both and said, "Let's get breakfast."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Those people over there are looking at us, and talking," Bobby said into the top of her head. They were standing at the grocery checkout with a full cart. He stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders; he had stopped bumping into her bottom when he realized they were being watched.

"Where? Who?" Gleason said as she turned and looked up at him. She scanned the area and saw two young women who must have been students. They smiled and waved when she made eye contact. Gleason smiled and waved back. "They must be students of mine. Oh, here they come." Bobby dropped his hands from her shoulders to his jacket pockets and took a step away, looking at the covers of the magazines in the rack beside them.

"Hi, Dr. Wintermantle, we're in your Tuesday and Thursday night class. You probably don't know us, that class is really big." The girl kept stealing looks at Bobby. Her friend stared at him unabashedly.

"Well, it's good to see you both." Gleason glanced over at Bobby; there was no way she was going to introduce these students to him. "I'll see you Tuesday evening, then." Gleason smiled and turned from the students. The students lingered a minute, then walked away, chattering to each other. Gleason reached her hand for Bobby who took it and stepped beside her. "I think they were curious about you," she said with a smile.

"Yeah, well, oh, here, we're up." Gleason stepped in front of the cart and pulled it forward. Together, they unloaded the cart and Bobby paid. They pushed the cart to her car and set the bags in the trunk.

They were on the way back to her apartment, when Bobby said, glancing again in the rearview mirror, "I think we're being followed."

"What?" Gleason turned around and looked out the rear window, "Who is following us?"

"That blue bug has been behind us since we left the grocery store. It looks like those students of yours." Bobby kept glancing in the rear view mirror. He made an unsignaled right turn and they stayed with him.

"I don't want them to know where you live. I'll get rid of them. Hang on."

"Bobby, what are you going to do?"

He sped up, passed the truck ahead of them, squeaked under a yellow light and turned right down a side street. He glanced again in the mirror and said, "There, all gone."

"You are quite the driver, sir." Gleason said.

"Good police training," he replied with a smile. "I have no idea where we are. How do we get back to your place?"

"I'm not sure. Let's see what the next major cross street is." They continued down the side street and there, on the right, sitting at a stop sign, was the blue VW, waiting for them.

Bobby saw them as he approached the residential intersection. "Damn, they are good." He slowed, put on his blinker, pulled to the curb and stopped. "Wait here," he told Gleason.

"Bobby, what are you going to do?" He ignored her, got out of the car and walked to the VW. Gleason expected the girls to pull away, but they didn't. She saw the driver side window lower and Bobby bend to speak to the driver. She watched as he reached into his inside pocket and the girl looked sheepish. The driver nodded and the window closed. Bobby straightened and walked back toward Gleason's car, smiling. He stopped at the corner and turned, waving the girls through the intersection.

"What did you say to them?" Gleason asked as he got into the vehicle.

"I told them that they had been following too closely, had made an unsignaled right turn, showed them my badge and told them to be on their way." He smiled at her as he said this. "I don't think we'll see them again."

Gleason looked at him and smiled, "I love it when you play cop."

Bobby reached over and patted her leg. "Too bad I didn't bring my cuffs."

Gleason blushed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They finished putting away the groceries and Gleason stood at the kitchen sink. "Do you want anything, Love?"

He crossed to her, took her in his arms and said, "I want you. That's all I will ever want. I want you." He kissed her deeply, with soft passion. He molded her body to his. "I want to make love to you, Gleason, I want to make you come and come, again and again. I want to be in you, a part of you. I want to be with you every moment. I want you to want _me_, need _me_. I want you to love only me. I want to be your only one. That's what I want." Bobby said all of this in a deep, dark whisper. He kissed her again.

Gleason had never felt such love. No one had ever loved her like this, so completely, so desperately. She had never loved anyone like this. Nothing, no one else mattered in her life. She had Bobby and he had her. They cocooned in their love for each other.

Bobby took her hand and they went into the bedroom. He undressed her slowly. She undressed him. They got into bed and he lay beside her, up on his left side, she on her back, as was their way. He leaned down and kissed her, his tongue licking her tongue. His fingers rested on the side of her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw. Gleason pulled him closer; he leaned gently over her, his right leg slipping between her legs. She felt his penis lengthen and harden against her.

They made slow, loving, love. Each relished in the love of the other. Bobby swore to himself that he would do anything to preserve the love they felt at that moment. He would do anything.


	16. Chapter 16

Designed Intent

Chapter 16

Saturday Night

"I didn't bring anything to wear to the theatre," Bobby said, as they were getting ready to go.

"Dearheart, this is university theatre. Appropriate attire is jeans and a sweater. You are just fine."

Gleason pulled off the sweatshirt she had been wearing, folded it and set it on the bed. She turned and Bobby embraced her, saying, "Do you know how much I love you?"

She ran her hands up his back, under his tee shirt and then dragged her nails slowly, gently down. He squirmed and shut his eyes. "Does that feel good?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he answered. She did it again. "Here, turn around," Gleason told him. He turned and she lifted up the back of his shirt and ran her hands and finger nails all over. Bobby scrunched up his shoulders and moaned in ecstasy. "Oh, that feels so good," he groaned.

Gleason stroked Bobby's broad back. His skin was milky white, the color of a city boy who wears a suit everyday. She felt the thick layer of toned muscle under his skin. He radiated strength. She smiled at the faint spray of freckles over his right shoulder.

"Dearheart, I'm making red lines on your back. I should stop." Gleason kissed his shoulder blade and licked lightly before she removed her hands.

"Oh, that feels good. Thank you." He turned and grabbed her with a smile, "Now, answer my question, do you know how much I love you?"

She looked up at him and said, "I have a pretty good idea." They kissed softly and then continued to dress.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby spotted Malcolm in the surprisingly large crowd that filled the theatre lobby. He was standing with a short woman with long, dark hair. Goddamn, Bobby thought, we cannot get away from him. Bobby embraced Gleason and turned her so her back was to the other couple. She looked up at him and smiled. He kissed her forehead and kept his eyes on the professor.

Malcolm spotted Bobby embracing Gleason, looking straight at him. The men locked eyes across the lobby; neither wanted to look away first. Bobby watched as Malcolm bent his head and said something to the woman.

"Do you want anything? Something to drink?" Malcolm asked his wife. She glanced up at him and shook her head. Maeve did not know what to make of this. What am I doing, she asked herself, we are separated; we should not be out together. Maeve still loved Malcolm, though. She was hoping his decision to leave her was just a midlife crisis, that he would come to his senses and come back home, love her again, be a real father to Angus. "I'm going to the men's room. I'll be right back." Maeve smiled and nodded.

Bobby watched the man move toward the restroom and said to Gleason, "Wait right here for me. I'm going to the restroom. Wait here, ok?"

Gleason looked up, smiled and nodded. Bobby bent down and kissed her quickly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby stood beside Malcolm at the next urinal. They were literally engaged in a pissing contest.

"I want you to leave her alone. Understand?"

Malcolm said nothing.

"I don't want you at her apartment. I don't want you to ask her out. I don't want you to send her flowers. Don't call her. I want you to leave her alone."

Malcolm zipped up and flushed. He turned to Bobby and said, "Detective, Gleason and I are colleagues. We work closely together. Occasionally we need to work together outside university hours. Perhaps you should be talking to Gleason about 'what you want.'"

Bobby finished, zipped and flushed. He could have killed the man right there, right then; the smug son of a bitch.

"Just leave her alone."

Malcolm went to the sink and washed his hands. Bobby followed and did the same. As he dried his hands, Malcolm grinned at Bobby in the mirror and said, "Have a good flight back to New York." The professor tossed the paper towel into the bin, turned and walked out. Bobby's gut burned.

Gleason smiled as she watched Bobby's head move above most of the others in the lobby. Her smile faded when she saw the dark look on his face.

"We should find our seats. Come on," he said putting his arm around her.

The usher showed them to their place and Bobby took her right hand in his left. Throughout the entire day, Bobby had touched Gleason in one way or another. His arm was around her, his hand on her neck, on her back, on her leg, holding her hand, at every moment he had hold of her.

Gleason noticed the change in his mood. She looked up at him, "Is everything all right?" she asked him. "Did you get a call from work?"

Bobby's head tilted to the left, hesitated and then said, "No. Everything is fine." She had not seen Malcolm.

They sat quietly, she looking at the people, he thinking over everything what had transpired in the men's room. The lights dimmed and they settled in.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Evening

They were quiet as Bobby packed his bag. He did not want to leave. This weekend went by so fast. It had been wonderful, after the awful start; as it was in New York, when she lived there with him.

Gleason watched him fold then stuff his shirt into the bag. He stuffed everything in the bag and zipped it shut. He took her in his arms and held her. They rocked slowly.

"I love you, Gleason," he said into her head.

"I love you, Dearheart, forever," she returned.

He pulled away and said, "I need to get a cab."

"I'll take you," Gleason replied.

"No, I don't want you driving that far at night. Where can we get the number for a cab company?"

"I'll call the Hilton. Antonio or Loomis or someone will get us the number."

Gleason made the call while Bobby stood at the kitchen sink and stared out the window. She hung up and said, "It will be here in twenty minutes." She crossed to him and hugged him from around the back. She leaned against him, his hands on her forearms.

"What do you have planned for this week?" she asked him.

He turned and held her around the waist. "More of the same -- missing you, wanting you, thinking about you, loving you. . ."

She smiled and said, "We shall speak everyday, like we have. I will be home next weekend. It won't be too bad; I shall be home in five days."

He hugged her to him and said, "I know. I just miss seeing you everyday. I miss making love to you at night."

They broke at the sound of a car horn. "That cannot be the cab already," Gleason said, moving toward the door. She pulled it open and sure enough, a cab in the drive flashed its lights.

"It's here," she said turning toward him. Bobby slipped on his jacket and embraced her, kissing her tenderly. "Call me when you get home, all right? I want to know you are safe."

"I will. I love you, Sweetheart."

"I love you, too. Bye. Be careful."

Bobby walked down the walk to the drive and got into the cab. Gleason waved and watched it pull away. She closed the door and sighed. She took two steps and the phone rang. She smiled, that silly goose, calling me from the cab! She dashed for the phone and picked it up on the second ring, "So you do miss me," the smile in her voice was obvious.

"You can tell, eh?"

"Malcolm."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	17. Chapter 17

76

Designed Intent

Chapter 17

Monday Afternoon

Bobby and Eames had finished interviewing three of the collectors. A pattern began to emerge from the facts of the collectors' acquisition stories. Eames and Goren headed to Deakins' office to share their theory.

"Are you saying that you think one of the authenticators is the counterfeiter?" Deakins asked.

"I'm thinking so, Captain."

"Based on what?"

"We have one more collector to interview. He's in Rome and won't be back until Friday. But I'm wagering his story will contain similar information."

Eames jumped in, "These fakes have been owned for years. With one exception, these are not recent purchases."

"How long are we talking?" Deakins asked.

Bobby continued with, "The books have been purchased over the past eighteen years; until three weeks ago, the last purchase was six years ago. It was the recent purchase, a sale between two collectors, brokered by this authenticator, and authenticated by a second individual, that brought the forgeries to light."

"So, this first authenticator made the counterfeits and then brokered their sale to collectors, authenticating his fakes as genuine?" Deakins asked.

Bobby nodded and said, "Looks like. The buyers each told the same story. The broker would put out word that he knew of a rare first edition that was available; he would then present the authentication papers, a photo of the book and its boilerplate, and, after discussing price, would arrange for the buyer to examine the book. The sale was always private, so only the broker would meet with the potential buyer. The buyer would write the check to the broker in order to conceal the owner's identity."

Deakins considered this. "The second authenticator realized that this latest book was a fake?" The detectives nodded. "Have you talked with this second authenticator?"

"He's in Edmonton until Wednesday night. We left word with his assistant that we'd like to see him Thursday. She's going to get back to us about the exact time," Eames offered.

"Good, good. Who is this guy, this counterfeiter/authenticator?"

Eames looked at her notes, "James Doogan."

"Do we know where this Doogan is? Does he have any idea we're onto him?"

"Well, he must know something is up with the notices we've put out to collectors and the two clubs."

"Have you run him yet?"

"No, that's next."

"Any more fakes turn up from those notices?"

"No, so far, all of the fakes are located in New York, New Jersey and Connecticut."

"Good work. Find out about this guy and get back to me."

The pair rose and the three returned to work.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late Monday Afternoon

"Gleason, I swear, I was not watching. It was a coincidence that I called right after he left. I swear, Lass."

Gleason was furious with Malcolm. He was rushing to keep up with her as she strode to her evening class. She had hung up on him last night when he had called right after Bobby's cab had left for O'Hare. She had not taken his repeated calls last evening, this morning at home or in her office. She had left word with Mrs. Cornwall, the faculty secretary in the office reception area, that she did not want to speak with Dr. Conway, should he show up. Mrs. Cornwall had responded with eyebrows raised and a terse, "Certainly." She was ignoring him now. The bastard.

"Gleason, please. Talk to me."

She stopped, turned and said, "If you do not stop harassing me, Malcolm, I will file a grievance. Do you understand me?" She glared at him.

He looked at her calmly and said, "I don't think I am harassing you. I am your mentor, we are working on an article, and I am making myself available to help you. You will have a hard time substantiating harassment; especially since you accepted the flowers I sent to you, you invited me to the concert, and you returned my kiss." His tone was flat and icy.

Gleason did not like what he was saying. For the first time, she was afraid of him. "Just leave me alone." And she strode away.

Malcolm watched her walk away, pleased with how that went. He turned and walked back to his office. He shut his office door, lifted the phone, and dialed, "Maeve, I want to see you and Gussie tonight. How about if I come over, eh?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday

"It's off, man, it's off. The dude moved the goods," Turnbuckle said to Brine during their break.

Brine looked at his almost-partner-in-crime and sent up a prayer of thanks. "Ok, that's ok. I'll see you around," he said and turned to walk away.

"Hey, no man, wait. I got us somptin else. You wait, this is even better. You gonna do it wif me, right. This is even better. But we gots to wait a few weeks."

Sylvester Brine said easily, "Find someone else, I'm not doing anything else with you, understand?"

Turnbuckle stared at the other man and said menacingly, "You are in it all with me. We gonna do this other job in about two weeks and then we don't know each other. I need your expertise in this kind of stuff. You ain't walkin' away wifout agreeing. You understand?"

Brine knew he was trapped, "Call me when the time gets closer." And he walked away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Dr. Wintermantle, Dr. Conway left this message for you," Mrs. Cornwall said, handing Gleason a note.

She took the note, "Thank you, Mrs. Cornwall."

The secretary hesitated and then said, "Dr. Wintermantle, Dr. Conway was very upset when I told him you did not want to see him."

"What do you mean, he was upset?"

"Well, he looked like he didn't believe me and then his face got all red and then he kept looking back here, toward the offices."

"Did he say anything?"

Mrs. Cornwall went red herself and looked to the floor, "He, he swore and then asked me for an 'f-ing piece of paper,' except he said the whole word."

Gleason was angry and frightened. "I'm sorry I put you in that situation, Mrs. Cornwall. Thank you for keeping him out there. I am sorry you had to deal with him. I don't think he'll be back."

Mrs. Cornwell nodded and left.

Gleason opened the note and read, "I have apologized. I don't know what else to do. I stopped by to let you know that Willow and I, and hopefully you, are meeting on Thursday at eleven to discuss the article. Call Willow to let her know if you will be there. Please be there." He signed it 'Malcolm.' Gleason was so sorry she had agreed to do this article; however, it had gone easily and was a good way to begin her tenure here. Eleven, tomorrow – she had office hours at that time, but could cancel them, as she had no appointments with students. She called Willow's number.


	18. Chapter 18

81

Aligned Design

Chapter 18

Wednesday

"How was this past week?" Dr. Stephens asked Bobby.

"I, uh, I surprised Gleason in Evanston."

"You did? How romantic! Was she surprised?"

Bobby was quiet for a long moment. Dr. Stephens watched him closely. She saw him struggle, deciding whether to tell, how much to tell. She knew he would tell it all, he was desperate for help.

Bobby stood and went to the bookcases, his safe island amid the rough seas of his emotions. "A colleague of hers was there. Malcolm Conway. They were working on an article. She had made sandwiches and wine glasses were set out. I, I . . . I saw him kiss her." He said all of this so softly, sadly.

Dr. Stephens was surprised at this. She said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"Conway left and then we, we fought terribly. She thought I was going to strike her. Oh, God, it was awful." He put his head in his hands. "We made up and then I accused her of sleeping with him. I know she would not do that. I knew it, but I had to ask her anyway. Why?" Bobby turned and faced the doctor. "Why do I do that? Dr. Stephens, we fight every time we're together after being apart. I hate this. Why do we fight? I always cause the problems. Why? What's wrong with me?"

The psychiatrist wasn't sure how to reply. Finally, she asked, "Do you trust Gleason?"

"I want to trust her. I trust her. I have to trust her. I love her, so I trust her." He said all of this looking at the floor, almost to himself.

"What does Gleason say about this Malcolm fellow?"

"That son of a bitch will not leave her alone. He's always sniffing around her. She says he's just a colleague. I knew he was interested in her the first time I met him. I could see it in him. Smirking bastard."

"So, you trust Gleason, but you don't trust Malcolm. Is that it?"

"Yes! Exactly. He is the source of our trouble. I overreact when they do anything together and then we fight about it."

"Do they do a lot together?"

"I asked her about that. He's sent her flowers. Flowers! What business does he have sending her flowers? Jesus. He's always asking her to dinner and breakfast."

"Does she accept these invitations?"

"Only once." Bobby told Dr. Stephens about the concert and dinner afterward and then the breakfast invitation the next morning.

"Detective, you say your fights are horrible. How so?"

Oh, he did not want to get into details. He was ashamed of his behaviour. Bobby returned to his chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced. "I yell at her, I lose control. I say terrible things. She's afraid of me. She cries. It's awful. I hate myself. I hate myself." His hands went to his face.

"Do you get physical with her?"

"No! No, I've never raised a hand to her. I've, oh God, I've grabbed her, but I've never struck her. I won't ever strike her. No."

"You said she is afraid of you. How do you know that she's afraid?"

Bobby was miserable reliving all that he had done. "She cowered from me, she said 'don't hit me, don't hit me.' She backed away from me, she told me to stay away from her." Bobby slouched back in his chair, his left elbow on the arm, his fingers covering his mouth.

Dr. Stephens let this ride in the air. "Do you make up after these fights?"

Bobby nodded.

"How do you make up? Who makes the first attempt?"

Bobby straightened up. "I always apologize. It's always my fault. I'm so sorry after I explode. I just want to be with her, love her. I just want her and I want her to want me. Living apart is killing me." He was afraid he was going to cry.

"Does Gleason accept your apology?"

Bobby waited, thinking. "Gleason loves me. She always accepts my apologies. She's a better person than I am."

"What happens after you make up?"

Bobby's head tilted to the left and he said softly, "We make love."

Dr. Stephens hated this next part. It was necessary, however as it determined the link between the physical and emotional aspects of their relationship. "Detective, I have to ask this, please understand." Bobby looked over at the doctor. "What is the sex like?"

Bobby's face darkened. "How do you mean?"

"Is the sex giving or demanding?" Dr. Stephens looked at her notepad as she asked this.

Bobby stood again, put his hands in his pockets and walked to the bookcases. "The sex is incredible. It is loving and giving." He turned and looked at her and she met his eyes, "Is that what you want to know?"

"Yes, Detective, thank you." The silence hung between them. Bobby turned to look at the books lining the shelves. Dr. Stephens made a few notes. Finally, she said, "Detective I want you to think about something." Bobby turned again and faced her. "Would you and Gleason consider couple's counseling?"

Bobby stood still and thought about it. Oh, yes. "Yes, I, I would like that. Very much."

"What about Gleason? Would she agree to this?"

Bobby was not sure about this. Gleason was obsessively private. He knew they needed this. He needed this. He would see what she thought. "I'm not sure. I'll talk with her about it."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday Night

"Honey, I, I want to ask you to think about something."

"What Love?"

"Gleason, I, I want us to go to couple's counseling." He said it; he said it.

She was not sure she understood, "You want us to do what?"

"Couple's counseling. With Dr. Stephens. It would, Honey, I think it would help us."

Now Gleason understood – he wanted them to go and talk with his psychiatrist. "Bobby, why? What would happen if we went?"

"Honey, we fight. We fight all the time. I, I don't want to fight with you. I love you; I want us to be happy."

She had trouble following him. "You want us to go and talk with Dr. Stephens about that? Oh, Bobby, I don't know."

"Just think about it Gleason, please, just think about it."

Gleason wondered what Bobby had told Dr. Stephens. "Why are you asking me this now? What did you say to Dr. Stephens? Bobby do you talk about me with her?"

He heard the anxiety in her voice. "Honey –,"

"Bobby what did you tell her? I didn't know you talked about me. What did you tell her? You shouldn't talk about me, Bobby. Do you think I'm causing your temper problems?"

"Gleason, calm down. Dr. Stephens and I talk about a lot of things."

"But you talk about me, too, don't you? What have you told her?"

This was not going the way he had hoped. "Honey, forget it. Gleason, I don't want to upset you. Please let's just forget I said anything."

Gleason could not believe he talked with his psychiatrist about her. What has he told her, she wondered. "Bobby, tell me what you have told her."

His gut burned. A headache began behind his eyes. "Gleason. . ." he said softly.

"Do you talk about what we do in bed? Do you?" Gleason swung between anger and fear. "What have you told her, Bobby?"

Bobby exploded, "Jesus Christ! Forget I said anything. I am sorry I brought it up, Gleason. Just forget it. Ok? Forget it. Christ Almighty!"

Neither said anything for a long minute. Then Gleason said softly, "I'm sorry I pushed you, Bobby. I know you want this to help us. I'll go." Gleason did not want to go. She mistrusted most doctors, even though every one she had seen had saved her life in one way or another. She didn't know a lot about psychiatrists, and was skeptical about their ability to help, especially since the first go with Bobby's shrink didn't seem to work. She couldn't understand why he would return to the same doctor who couldn't help him the first time around. And now he wanted them to go together?

"I don't want you to do this if you don't want to, Gleason."

"If it will help you, us, I'll go. When?"

Bobby thought; she's doing this for me. She loves me and is doing this for me. "Honey, thank you. I'll, I'll call and get us an appointment for a weekend when you are home. Maybe this weekend? I'll let you know. Thank you, Sweetheart."

The rest of their conversation was subdued; they spoke of inconsequential things. Thirty minutes later, they said goodbye and each prepared for bed. Bobby lay wondering what they would talk about with Dr. Stephens. He prayed this would help them. He loved her so much.

Gleason lay wondering what Bobby had told Dr. Stephens. She did not want to do this. Gleason was very uncomfortable discussing her life. She was excessively private. She did not want to do this, but she would. She loved him so much.


	19. Chapter 19

85

Designed Intent

Chapter 19

Thursday

The little boy watched his Gramma doze in her chair. She is dreaming, he thought. The child popped into the dream and saw Gramma being kind to his daddy's brother. Gramma loves the brother more than his daddy, the boy realized. The child didn't like this other man.

Frances Goren startled awake, not certain where she was. Oh, yes, still here. Same place, she thought. The little boy was delighted his Gramma was awake. "Hi Gramma," he whispered.

"Oh, my little sweet pea! No, no, your name is Chris, yes, Chris. And something else . . . oh, I cannot remember anything anymore."

"Tian. My mommy would call me Tian," he told her.

"That's right, Tian. What kind of name is that? Tian."

"I don't know."

Frances looked at the little boy and she reached to stroke his curls, but he was gone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Doogan is not in any system," Eames told her partner. "He's quite reputable in his field, however."

Bobby looked up and nodded. He was writing furiously in his portfolio. "Here, look at this. I put together a timeline of sorts indicating when each of the forged books was purchased. Once that last collector comes back, we'll have a complete profile of all of the information. The way I figure, Doogan would make one fake every three years. Replicating period methods, working in his spare time . . . it could take about three years to complete one counterfeit."

"You mean, like some men build boats in a bottle, it takes a long time? He did this as a hobby?"

"This man is diligent. The forgeries are flawless, as is the providence for each book. The only thing that slipped him up was the technology that's available now. This other authenticator used radiation and chemical analysis to date the book and found out it was a fake."

"Let's go pick up Doogan for questioning," Eames suggested.

"Do we know where he is?"

"Let's check his house first. Then his office. I have a feeling he's going to lay low for a while. Let's go get him before he runs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason met Willow walking toward the library for their meeting. They chatted about inconsequential events. Gleason saw Malcolm approach from her right. He nodded to the women as he walked in step with them.

The three took the escalator to the second floor and walked to the small conference room that Malcolm had reserved. Gleason and Willow both opened up their computers, plugged in and were ready to go. Malcolm set out three copies of the current draft. Neither he nor Gleason spoke directly to each other. Willow caught the cold silence between them.

Malcolm sat across from Gleason looking straight at her; she avoided his eyes. "Let's each read this through and make note of any thing that needs attention," Malcolm suggested.

"I've already made some notes," Gleason said to Willow.

"Then perhaps Willow and I can take a few minutes to read this, if you don't mind." Malcolm said steadily, looking at Gleason.

Willow looked from Gleason to Malcolm and saw abject animosity. What's going on between these two, she wondered. "I, uh, I already read it and made a few notes as well, Malcolm."

He swung his head toward the other woman and said, "Well, then since you two are ready to go, why don't we?"

For the next hour and a half, the trio revised and polished. They saved the final draft to Gleason's thumb drive and she said she would read with a critical eye. Willow had suggested that Gleason do the final read as she had two books in print and a third on the way.

The two women closed up their computers and the three prepared to leave. Willow opened the conference room door, stepped through, and turned to see if Gleason wanted to get some lunch. She saw Malcolm step in front of Gleason, preventing her from reaching the door. "Willow, thanks for your help. Gleason and I need to discuss something. Thanks." Willow looked at Gleason but saw that her friend was looking at the floor.

"Ok, thanks to you two as well. It's good that this is done. Gleason, I'll call you." Gleason ignored her and Willow left. Malcolm shut the door behind her and turned to face Gleason.

"We need to speak about this situation between us."

Gleason finally looked up at him but said nothing.

"Gleason, please. You know I have feelings for you. And I think you have feelings for me. I don't want this between us. Talk to me." He reached for her arm and she stepped away.

"Get out of my way."

"Gleason, please. Sit down, talk to me. Please."

"I said, get out of my way."

Malcolm looked at her deeply. "Please," he whispered.

She looked at him and was disgusted. "Move," and she stepped around him, opened the door and left.

Malcolm sat and knew he had done everything wrong. God, she is beautiful, he thought, so smart. He wanted that woman in the worst way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason walked to the third bench along the footpath that led from the library toward Margrave Hall and her office. She sat, pulled her phone from her bag, hit speed dial one and listened to it ring.

"Honey, is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes, Love, I just wanted to hear your voice." She sat with her eyes closed. Oh, she loved him. "Are you busy?"

"No, are you sure you're ok?"

Gleason had to wait a second, she was afraid she was going to cry. "I miss you Bobby. That's all, I just miss you. I love you."

He heard the tears behind her voice. "Gleason, what's wrong? Honey?"

"Oh, Bobby, it's . . . ," she wanted to tell him about Malcolm not leaving her alone. Tell him, she said to herself, tell him! ". . . it's nothing. I'm just missing you a lot today."

Bobby did not believe this for a second. Something is bothering her. "Glea, do you feel all right?"

"Yes, Love, I'm fine. I'll be home tomorrow night. We'll have the weekend together."

"I love you, Sweetheart."

"I'm so lucky that you do."

"You're sure you are ok?"

"I am; I am. I'll call you tonight, ok? I love you."

"I love you, more. I'll talk with you tonight."

Gleason flipped shut her phone and continued on her way. Malcolm moved from the spot where he stood watching her talk on her cell; he knew exactly who she was talking with.

Bobby flipped shut his phone and worried about her. She wasn't telling him something. Something had happened. He would find out about it tonight. Or, this weekend.


	20. Chapter 20

90

Designed Intent

Chapter 20

Friday night

Gleason and Bobby locked eyes as she approached the exit separating ticketing and security. She stepped into Bobby's arms and hugged him tightly. She clung to him as he held her. Bobby looked down at her and said, "Gleason? What's wrong, Honey? What happened?"

Gleason didn't respond, just held onto him. Finally, she looked up and said, "I want to go home." He searched her face and took her hand. They walked to his vehicle.

Neither said a word until they were into traffic, heading to their apartment. Gleason spoke first, "I love you."

He looked at her quickly and then took her hand. "I love you, too, Baby." They rode in silence, and then he asked, "Are you hungry?"

"I just want to go home."

Gleason had not told Bobby about Malcolm's call after Bobby left Sunday night. She didn't tell him about the repeated calls that night and the next morning. She didn't tell him a thing about Malcolm.

At their apartment, Bobby hung her wrap and his jacket. Gleason went to the fridge and removed the bottle of Silver Birch wine and a beer. Bobby watched her uncap his bottle and open hers. He got a wine glass and took the bottle from her. She picked up his bottle and moved to the sofa. "Hold me," she said setting his bottle on the end table.

He poured her wine and left the bottle on the kitchen table, crossing to where she sat and setting her glass on the table beside his beer. He sat in his usual place and she snuggled up against him. He held her with both arms, her head against his broad shoulder.

Neither said a word for a long time. He knew not to say anything. Something had happened and he didn't want to mess up her telling him. He did not want to fight with her. He held her, running his right hand up and down her back, his left hand on her right upper arm. He felt her sigh.

Gleason's hand went to his lap and she fondled him. Bobby drew a sharp breath at the unexpected move. His lips went into her hair and he closed his eyes. Gleason loved the feel of him. His penis moved and thickened in her hand as she touched him through his trousers. She heard his breath quicken and his murmured groan in her hair. He had to shift to accommodate himself.

Gleason looked up at him and said softly, "Let me eat you." He looked at her and moved his left hand from her arm to her neck, thumb under her jaw. He kissed her deeply and her tongue met his.

"In bed, let's go to bed," he said and kissed her again. Gleason uncurled herself from him and they both stood. She led him to the bedroom.

For the next two hours, they made love, slowly, passionately. Afterward, they lay in each other's arms. Bobby lay wondering what had happened; he was desperate to ask her, but he knew if he did, they would end up fighting. He did not want to fight with her. Gleason lay wondering how to tell Bobby about Malcolm. She knew that it would upset him if he knew. She also knew that they would fight. She did not want to fight with him. Slowly, they fell asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday Morning

He turned off the alarm and lay back, reaching for her. He turned toward her and wrapped himself around her warm form.

"You better get up," she said. His hand went to her breast. She felt his penis move against her bottom. "You better get up, before you really get up," she said.

He smiled and murmured, "I'm already up."

Gleason turned in his arms and looked at him. She loved this man with her heart and soul. Bobby looked into her heart. "Go get a shower before you need a cold one," she told him.

He groaned and then kissed her, their tongues broaching on more action. "Go," she said.

Bobby slid off the bed and walked into the bathroom. Gleason laid thinking. It is so nice not to fight with him. She stretched sensuously and recalled their lovemaking the night before. They had never been so slow; it was wonderful. She forced herself to get up; she slipped on one of his tee shirts and went into the kitchen.

Bobby and Alex were working a half Saturday and had Sunday off. Gleason and he would have the rest of the weekend to themselves. Bobby wanted to go to Carmel Ridge this afternoon to see his mother. Gleason looked forward to the trip.

"Here, drink your juice and eat this toast, Love. The coffee is near to done," she told him as he entered the kitchen. He stepped to her, took the juice, set it on the table and embraced her. "You didn't shave," she smiled.

"You like me this way," he smiled back.

"I like you every way," she said and kissed him. He held her and rocked gently. He still wanted to know what had upset her this week. Deep down, he knew it was Malcolm. That bastard did something, said something to upset her. Bobby swore he would not push her to tell him. He did not want to fight this weekend. He never wanted to fight with her again.

"Bobby, drink your orange juice. Love, you must be starving. You didn't get any dinner last night."

He took the glass and drained it, then said with a smile, "Oh, we ate last night; it just wasn't very nutritious." He took a piece of toast that she had buttered and slathered with orange marmalade.

Gleason smiled in return and moved to the coffee pot. She poured him a cup and prepared his travel mug.

Bobby offered her a piece of toast and she shook her head, "You eat it, I'll get some later. Does Estella come today?" she asked.

Bobby swallowed and said, "Huh uh, next week." Gleason nodded and began to put away the breakfast things. "What are you going to do this morning?" he asked her.

"I'm not sure. I may go for a walk, window shop."

"I'll be home by twelve-thirty and then we can head up to see Mom. We can get lunch on the way." He set his glass, plate and cup in the sink, wiped his mouth and hands on a tea towel and took her by the waist. "How does that sound?"

Gleason stepped close to him and hugged him tight, as she had at the airport last evening. "Honey, something happened, didn't it?" he said softly. He bent and looked into her face. He felt her shiver.

"Bobby, you're going to be late," And she pulled away. He looked at her with that pained look he gets. "Go on, I'll see you when you get here. Go." She kissed him lightly and took him by the hand, leading him to the door.

"I'll call you when I'm leaving, ok?"

"Good, then I'll be ready when you get home." She kissed him again and opened the door. "Now go. Be careful. I love you."

He stood outside the door and looked at her, "Lock the door. Hear me? Lock it. I love you."

Gleason waved and shut the door.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday Afternoon

Bobby pulled into the parking lot at Carmel Ridge, parked, went around the front of the SUV and opened Gleason's door. He helped her down and they walked hand in hand to the entrance. Neither said anything. They crossed the main lobby and took the elevator to the third floor. They rode up in silence, exited the elevator, and crossed the common area to the reception desk to sign in.

"Mr. Goren, Dr. Shinto would like to speak with you before you go in to see your mother," the receptionist said.

"Is my mother all right?" Bobby asked with obvious concern.

"You'll need to speak with Dr. Shinto. Let me page him for you."

Bobby turned and put his right arm around Gleason. She slid her left arm around his waist. Neither said anything. They waited only a few minutes.

"Mister Goren," said a short man in a white lab coat.

Bobby turned, took his arm from around Gleason's shoulders and stuck out his hand to his mother's psychiatrist. "Dr. Shinto, is my mother all right?"

The doctor shook Bobby's hand and bowed slightly to Gleason. She nodded in return. "For the most part, yes, your mother is all right. Let us speak over here." Dr. Shinto led Bobby and Gleason across the common room to a love seat facing two wing back chairs. The couple took the loveseat, holding hands, and Dr. Shinto took one chair. He smiled at them and began. "Your mother has manifested a new hallucination."

"What kind of hallucination?" Bobby asked.

"It is a simultaneous visual and auditory. She's been speaking to a hallucination of a little boy whom she can apparently see." The psychiatrist waited for Mrs. Goren's son to process this information.

"When did these start? Do they upset her?"

Dr. Shinto nodded and held up a hand, smiling. "We are not sure when they began. A staff member saw her speaking to the child twice. We are not certain how often they occur. These manifestations do not upset her, no, no, quite the opposite, actually. She seems to enjoy the company of this child. She is always calm and happy afterward."

"If she is calm and happy, does anything need to be done to prevent this hallucination?"

"It would seem nothing need be done if this particular hallucination gives her pleasure. However, we must find the root of this new event. She may be pleased with the experience at this time; however, we cannot be sure the hallucination will remain pleasant. As the hallucination continues, as it evolves, it may corrupt rather than remain status or even improve. The risk of corruption is too great; I think we must work to abate the vision and voice."

Bobby looked down at his hand holding Gleason's hand. His thumb slid back and forth over the back of her hand. Gleason watched Bobby think. Then she asked, "What do you know about this child she sees and speaks with? What details has she given you about him?"

"She has told us nothing. I am not sure she even knows we know about it."

Gleason continued, "Would it be wise to find out who she thinks this child is? It may be an insight into her psychosis."

Both Bobby and the doctor looked at the lovely woman. Dr. Shinto said, "That is exactly what we plan to do. I will speak with her about his new manifestation. We will need to see what she thinks. That kind of information will help get to the root. Then we will be better prepared to treat her."

Bobby looked down and the psychiatrist continued, "Perhaps you should be the one to broach the subject of this hallucination with her. Would you be comfortable asking your mother about this child she sees and talks with?"

Bobby looked to Gleason and then said, "Sure, if you think it will help. How should we begin with her? Should we act as if the child is real? I do not want to do or say anything to upset her."

"You might begin by telling her you and I have talked and that you are curious about this child. You can judge whether to continue or not. I do not think she will evade the conversation; nor do I think it will upset her. She will be comfortable talking with you about this first."

Bobby sighed and squeezed Gleason's hand. "All right. Do you want us to meet you afterward to share what we find out?"

"That would be good." Dr. Shinto glanced at his watch, stood and said, "Have the desk page me when you are done. I must see a patient. Thank you." Bobby stood and the two men shook hands. Dr. Shinto bowed slightly to Gleason.

Bobby held out his hand, Gleason took it and she rose. They walked down the hall to his mother's room.


	21. Chapter 21

94

Designed Intent

Chapter 21

Saturday Afternoon

"Hi, Mom," Bobby said, standing in the doorway. Mrs. Goren looked up from staring into her lap and her face lit up.

"Oh, Bobby, my Bobby," she struggled to stand. Bobby ushered Gleason into the room, stepped past her and was at his mother's side in two strides. He helped her to her feet.

Frances reached up with a hand on each side of his face and kissed his cheek. She saw Gleason and reached both hands to the tall woman. "Oh, dearest Gleason; how are you my dear?" She kissed Gleason's cheek as well.

"How are you doing, Mom?" Bobby asked.

"Here, sit down, sit. Bobby get Sylvia's chair for Gleason. She's off playing cards. I've told her how dangerous card playing is. You know what it has done to your brother. He's a good boy, Frank is, but he's too much like his father. Your dad loved you boys, but he was just too much of a playboy. Frank is just like your father, he can't help it. You turned out ok, didn't you, Bobby. Poor Frank, just like your father, your father had good intentions. He always provided for us, we were never hungry, collectors were never at our door, you know –,"

"Yeah, Mom, ok. Here, you sit." Mrs. Goren could get under Bobby's skin with talk of his father and brother.

Mrs. Goren's attention shifted back to Gleason, "Here, Gleason, sit in Sylvia's chair. Bobby, get the other chair for you." Frances Goren smiled as her son bustled about, getting everyone settled.

"Well, what's new with you two? Are you married yet? I hope not, I want to be there, you know." Bobby looked down and he and Gleason smiled.

"Uh, Mom, uh, Dr. Shinto talked with us before we came in. Uhm, he, he said that you are, you are talking to a little boy? Is that right? A little boy?" Bobby gave his mother sidelong looks.

Frances Goren looked at her younger son and then over at his lovely lady friend. She did not know what to say. How did Dr. Shinto know about Chris Tian? Frances thought only she could see the boy. Could Dr. Shinto see him, too? Could everyone see him? Was that little boy real? Frances' mind started to twirl this idea. She looked back at Bobby, then at her hands, then over to the window, her right hand rubbed her left, she glanced at Gleason, then back to Bobby. She shifted in her seat.

Bobby saw his mother's anxiety rise. "Mom, it's ok. Don't get upset. It's ok not to talk about it." Bobby was so sorry he had brought it up. "Calm down, Mom. It's ok." Gleason heard the anxiety in Bobby's voice.

"Mrs. Goren, what does this little boy look like?" Gleason said softly.

Frances looked over at the other woman. She saw goodness, pure goodness. She loved this girl. She was so thankful Bobby had found her. Gleason would look after her special boy. "Have you seen him, Gleason?"

"No, I haven't. I don't think Bobby has either. Have you, Love?" She asked Bobby.

Bobby looked at Gleason and then to his mother and said, "Uh, no. No, Mom, we haven't seen him."

Frances Goren looked at her son and his lady and then down at her hands. She thought a moment, nodded and then said, "He's a little boy. I think he is four years old, maybe younger, but not much. He's a good boy." Frances smiled, recalling the last time the child had visited. She stopped talking.

"What does he look like?" Gleason prodded gently.

Frances looked up and said, "Oh, his hair! It is so curly! Dark, dark curls. His hair looks just like yours, Bobby, when you were little, dark, dark curls." She smiled, looking down, remembering. Then she looked up and said, "Oh, but not in the sunlight. No, no, his hair is deep red in the sunshine. Oh, he has beautiful hair."

Bobby watched his mother. He saw her enjoy thinking about, remembering, this child. Bobby's mom sat smiling, thinking. "His eyes, he has beautiful eyes, too. Blue, Gleason, like yours only lighter, almost grey."

The germ of an idea began to form in Gleason's mind. A weight began to settle on her chest; she fought to stay calm and smiled at Bobby's mother.

"Mom, what do you and this boy talk about?"

Frances was tempted to tell Bobby and Gleason what the child had said about them being his daddy and mommy. She looked at each of them. She wanted to tell them. Frances knew the child was related to her son and Gleason, and to herself; she just didn't know how. She looked at them, almost said something and then thought she would not. It would only upset them. Bobby will get angry. Gleason would feel bad. So, she said nothing for several moments.

"Mom?"

His mother looked up at her son and said quietly, "I keep telling him I want you to bring me some children's books so I can read to him. Why don't you bring us some books, Bobby? You have a library card. You still have it, don't you? Is it current? If you use it, it will be current. Make it current by bringing us some children's books. You need to have a library card. Gleason, do you have one? You need to have a library card. Books are free with a library card." Mrs. Goren sometimes perseverated on a topic – library cards were one.

"Ok, Mom, ok. I'll bring you some children's books. Ok." Bobby wiped a hand over his face. Gleason reached over and put a hand on his thigh.

"Mrs. Goren, when you and this little boy talk, what does he call you?"

Bobby's mother smiled and looked at her hands. Her joy was obvious in her face, smile and demeanor. "He, he calls me 'Gramma.' I'm his Gramma." Mrs. Goren looked up and smiled warmly at her son and his lady. Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Bobby sat back in the chair and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. He set his right elbow on the arm of the wooden chair and placed the fingers of his right hand against his lips. He looked at his mother with a heavy heart.

Finally, Gleason smiled back and asked, barely hiding the quiver in her voice, "What do you call this little boy? Does he have a name?"

"Yes, he has a name. I asked him that just the other day. He has a wonderful name, two names, actually. His name is Chris Tian."

Gleason's hand moved slowly from Bobby's thigh to her mouth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby and Gleason walked slowly down the hall. Gleason held onto his right arm. She pulled him to a stop before they reached the common area.

"Bobby, that name, Chris Tian, that's Christian, my father's name. 'Tian' is a short, old version for Christian, like 'Liam' is short for 'William.'" She thought a moment, and then said, "How would your mother know my father's name? Did you hear her description of that little boy?" She could not say the rest out loud, 'that child is a mix of you and me.' Gleason was shaking. Bobby looked at the floor and ran his hand down the back of his head. Gleason continued, "Bobby, did you tell her about the miscarriage? Did you?"

"No! It would have served no purpose except to upset her." He didn't know what to think. "We need to talk with Dr. Shinto." Bobby took Gleason's hand and together, they moved to the reception desk.

Gleason could not stop shaking and that weight on her chest. . . Mrs. Goren seemed so happy to talk about the little boy. Who is he?

"I'm sorry, but Dr. Shinto had to leave, an emergency. I can leave word that you would like to speak with him."

Bobby's frustration was obvious. His left hand went to the back of his neck. He two-stepped backward. Gleason walked up beside him and spoke to the nurse. "Thank you; please have Dr. Shinto call us. You have our cell numbers, right?"

The nurse read off all of Bobby's numbers and Gleason's cell number. They nodded and Gleason slid her arm though Bobby's arm and said, "Let's go home."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	22. Chapter 22

100

Designed Intent

Chapter 22

Early Saturday Evening

Bobby and Gleason drove back to the city in silence. His mind raced with what had happened in his mother's room. This child . . . this child. His head tilted to the left and he calculated, Gleason would be nearly eight months pregnant if, if – he couldn't continue with that thought.

"Do you want to stop anywhere? Do anything?" he asked her.

"No, let's go home."

They continued in silence. Bobby had to park around the corner and they walked hand in hand up the street. "Do you want to get some ice cream," he asked her suddenly.

Gleason smiled at him and nodded. They crossed at the corner and walked to Scoopers, one block east.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They sat and ate in silence, watching a couple feed their toddler spoons of chocolate ice cream. The young mother and father loved their child and the child loved the ice cream. They seemed so happy.

Gleason ate a little and then set down her spoon; she sat back in her chair and appeared deep in thought. Bobby watched her think as he finished his sundae. Finally, he said, "Everything ok?"

She looked up at him and said, "Bobby, that, that little boy your mum sees," Gleason sat forward and pushed her bowl to him, and said softly, "Bobby that little boy sounds like he could be our son."

He watched her eyes fill, pushed their bowls to the side and took her hands in his. "I know, Sweetheart, I thought the same thing." Suddenly, Gleason's hands flew to her face and she began to cry. Bobby stood, threw bills onto the table and took her by the arm, leading her to the door.

They stood outside, beside the door and he held her. "Honey, Honey, don't; shush." He held her and rocked her as she continued to cry. Bobby was tempted to cry with her.

"Let's walk, Sweetheart, let's just walk," he told her, handing her his handkerchief. Gleason wiped her face and nose and nodded. They continued east with his arm around her shoulders.

Sutton Woods Park was small with two lawns separated by a limited playground. How had they ended up here? Gleason moved to a bench and Bobby joined her. She leaned against his shoulder and he held her tight, watching the people.

A middle-aged man crossed in front of them pushing a double stroller carrying a little girl not yet two and her older brother, probably three. The girl struggled to turn around and look at the man. Bobby and Gleason heard him say, "Elizabeth, turn around. We're going home," as they passed by.

Two little girls ran past, heading for the slide, their nannies following at a quick pace. A man and woman strolled by with a child, each holding a hand, swinging him up between them. Everyone seemed so happy.

"It would have been a boy," she said softly.

"What?"

"The baby, it would have been a boy."

The little boy with dark red curls stood by the tree and watched his daddy and mommy as they sat on the bench. He knew his mommy knew he would have been a boy. He watched his daddy, however; he liked his daddy. He is strong and nice, the child thought, he would play with me. He would push me on the swings.

"Why do you think so?" he replied.

Gleason didn't say anything for a long moment, and then answered, "I just know. I used to dream of a little boy, before we knew I was. . ."

Bobby's arm tightened around her. His lips went to her hair and he whispered, "Oh, Honey." He was fighting tears. He had wanted that baby so much.

The little boy watched his daddy. My daddy is crying, the child thought with surprise. Suddenly, the little boy felt so sad, and a little bit frightened. My daddy is thinking of me and he's sad. The little boy looked at his mommy. She always makes him sad, he thought. He loved his daddy. He loved his mommy, too; but he loved his daddy more.

Gleason heard Bobby hitch a breath and pulled away, looking up at him. "Bobby?"

He turned his head and wiped his eyes with his left hand. Gleason pulled his handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him with, "Here, Love." Bobby took it and wiped his eyes again. "Are you ok?" she asked so softly.

Bobby removed his right arm from around her, held the handkerchief at his eyes, and cried. It was Gleason's turn to comfort him.

The little boy approached the man and lady, watching his daddy cry. He stood close to his daddy's knees; he wanted to touch his daddy, but knew he wasn't allowed. Instead, he stood and watched his mommy comfort his daddy. They love me, he thought. They would have loved me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday Evening

Malcolm climbed the porch steps and used his key to open the front door; Maeve still had not changed the locks. Gus was on the parlor floor, in front of the television. The boy looked over, jumped up and ran straight into his dad's arms. Malcolm lifted up his son and hugged him.

"Hey, laddie! How are ye?" Malcolm missed his family right then. He missed his son. What had he given up?

"What are you doing here?" Maeve asked, coming from the back of the house. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt; her long, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked like a student.

"Hey, lass, I thought I would stop by to see my boy. I was hoping he was still awake." Malcolm looked at the child sitting on his arm and smiled. "Here, Gus, let me set you down. You're getting big."

Maeve watched the interaction. "You can't stay," she said. "He's going to have a bath and then to bed. Right, Angus? It's time for your bath." She reached for her son's hand and they started for the steps.

Malcolm took Maeve's arm as the pair passed in front of him. "Maevie." She stopped and looked at his hand on her arm and then up at his eyes. Malcolm dropped his hand and continued softly, "Let me help. I want to see my son. And you."

She looked down, and then proceeded up the steps. She had not said no.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby's hands lightly massaged Gleason's shoulders as he stood behind her at the kitchen sink. "I love you," he whispered into her hair.

He removed his hands as she stepped to the left and set the kettle on the burner. "I love you, too." She kissed him lightly, stepped away and headed to the bathroom.

Bobby prepared the tea and set out their mugs, and then he sat in the kitchen and waited for her to return and the kettle to boil, thinking of everything. Bobby had wanted a baby, and he wanted it with Gleason. He was still confused about her not wanting to be a mother. He wanted a baby.

Seeing those people with their children at the park this afternoon, knowing Gleason would have had their baby in a month or so, realizing they would now be buying baby furniture and things – it all pulled on his heart. He slouched in the kitchen chair and slung his left arm over the back, squeezing his eyes with his fingers.

"Are you ok, Love?" Gleason asked, standing at the kitchen entry. The kettle began to shrill and he stood and moved to the stove. He busied himself with the tea and Gleason stepped to him, setting a hand on his back. "Bobby, are you all right?"

He set the lid on the pot, setting it to steep, and leaned on the counter, palms on the edge. His head hung down, eyes squeezed tight. He couldn't say what he wanted to say, he couldn't say he wanted a baby.

"Bobby? What?"

He straightened, turned and said, "Nothing, Sweetheart, nothing." He took her arms and stared into her eyes.

She stared back and then she knew. She looked into his eyes, into his soul, and whispered, "I don't want to have a baby, Bobby." She turned away and went to sit on the sofa. Bobby watched her sit, turned and prepared their tea.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Let me wash him, eh? Go take a rest. I'll do it," Malcolm said to his wife. He put his hand on her shoulder and ushered her from the bathroom.

Maeve looked up at him saying, "Are you sure?"

"Aye, aye; I can give him a bath. You go lie down or something."

Maeve looked at her son as he stripped out of his clothes. "Gussie, you be a good lad for your dad, eh?"

The boy looked at his mom and smiled. Malcolm took his son's hand and helped the child step into the tub. Then, he pulled his sweater off and knelt down wearing his undershirt. "Now, laddie, where are your boats, eh?"

Maeve walked down the hall to what had been their bedroom. It was her bedroom now. Malcolm had moved out seven months ago. All of his things were gone. He had moved into a small flat near campus. She did not know where it was and she really did not care. He left; it had been his decision. Malcolm had decided he wanted to be single again – he wanted neither wife nor son. Therefore, he left and began divorce proceedings. Maeve had gotten a much better lawyer and the whole process had stalled. She loved Malcolm today as ever. Their son needed his dad.

Maeve listened as her son's father played with their son. She had never heard Malcolm like that. He sounded as though he was genuinely enjoying himself. Father and son laughed and squealed. Maeve's heart filled, so did her eyes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby handed Gleason a mug and stood in front of her. "Gleason," he began,

She shot up and said, "Do not start this, Bobby. Do not. I will not discuss this. Please. I don't want to fight with you." She stared at him.

Bobby set his mug on the short bookcase and turned to her, "Honey, just –,"

"No! Goddamn it, Bobby, I do not want to have a child! Why won't you accept that? I do not want to have a baby! If you want to have a child so badly, then maybe you need to find someone willing to do that for you, because I am not! Maybe you just need to find someone else anyway." She slammed down her mug, tea sloshing and splashing everywhere, and headed for the closet, taking her wrap. She grabbed her bag and Bobby grabbed her arm.

"Don't go," he struggled not to scream at her. Gleason suddenly bent forward, dropping her wrap and bag, clutching her arms and fists to her chest, gasping. Her knees buckled and she slumped to the floor. "Gleason!"

She leaned against the door as he knelt beside her. She couldn't breathe. At all. Oh, god, someone was sitting on her chest. Bobby jumped up and went for his phone. "No," she gasped out. "Don't call!"

He moved to her, "Gleason, lay flat, Honey lay flat." She shook her head and tried to stand. "Jesus Christ, Gleason, lay down!" He stared at her, then flipped open his phone. Gleason reached and grabbed his wrist.

"Wait," she whispered, "wait." She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply, slowly and it worked as it always had. Slowly her breathing returned to normal and the weight on her chest lifted. Bobby continued to stroke her head.

"Honey? Gleason what happened?"

"Help me up."

Bobby lifted her, led her to the sofa, and sat beside her. "Gleason, tell me what happened."

"It's nothing. It happens. It always ends. I don't want to talk about it."

He stared at her and then said, "This has happened before? How often? Jesus, Gleason, when? Honey?"

She looked at him, "Do not push me on this, Bobby. I'm going to bed." She stood and walked down the hall to the bathroom.

Bobby sat, wondering what had just happened. What is wrong with her, he wondered. Her heart? She needs to see Dr. Creighton again. His mind ran. The idea of having a baby was gone.

He stood and walked down the hall to the bedroom.


	23. Chapter 23

106

Designed Intent

Chapter 23

Saturday Night

Gleason sat on the edge of the bed, facing the wall, palms gripping the edge. Bobby crossed to her, sat beside her and hesitated putting his left hand on the back of her neck. They sat silently. He gently massaged her neck.

"I, I'll never mention it again. I'm sorry."

Gleason sighed and looked at him, "I can't give you what you want, Bobby. I'm sorry, I just can't."

He pulled her toward him and kissed her head. "It's ok." She folded into his arms. "I want to know what happened to you. Why couldn't you breathe? Honey, you nearly passed out." He pushed her up and gently took her face in his right hand. "You have to tell me."

Gleason shut her eyes and pulled away; she tried to stand but he held her, "Tell me what happened."

"It happens sometimes. It's nothing. It never lasts long. It always goes away. Please, don't make this into something." She looked at him and he stared back.

"Please see Dr. Creighton. Promise me. Do that for me. Tell me you'll see her."

She knew he would take no answer but agreement. "I will. Make the appointment," she resigned and then stood, moved past him around the bed and went back into the kitchen. Bobby prepared for bed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Come on, Laddie, you're getting all pruney. Let's get dried off, eh?" Malcolm lifted his son and set him on the towel he had folded on the toilet lid. He picked up another, wrapped Angus and began to dry his son's hair.

Malcolm looked at his son and smiled. Gus had had a wonderful time in the bath and his dad did as well. Father and son had played, splashed, and squealed with joy; and Malcolm noticed that his son had not said a single word. The boy hadn't said anything the weekend he stayed with Malcolm, either.

Maeve wiped her eyes and walked to the bathroom. Malcolm had his back to the door and didn't see her standing there. She watched him tenderly dry their son. She heard him talk with Gus about the fun they had had with the water.

"Where are your jammies, Lad? In your room?" The boy nodded. "All right then, to your room we go." She watched Malcolm wrap the boy in the towel and lift him; he turned with the boy and stopped when he saw Maeve standing there.

"We're off to get on our jammies," he smiled. Maeve nodded and stepped aside. Malcolm passed in front of her and she followed them to their son's room.

Malcolm set the child on the bed and then looked at Maeve; he did not know where the child's pajamas were. She understood and went to the small dresser, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of blue-footed bottoms and a matching top. She was prepared to dress Angus when Malcolm stepped forward and said, "I'll dress him."

Maeve watched the man fumble, trying to get his son's foot and leg into the pajamas. Gus lay back on the bed, his leg limp, not helping a bit. "Angus, help me here, keep your leg straight, will ya?" The boy turned his head and smiled at his mom.

She winked at him, smiled and then said, "Gussie, stop it now, help your dad." The child complied, held his leg still and stiff and Malcolm slipped the pajama foot over his son's foot and pulled up the leg. Angus dropped that leg and held up the other, Malcolm repeated the task and lifted his son to stand on the bed. Malcolm pulled up the bottoms and reached for the top.

"You do that better than I thought you would have," Maeve said from where she stood.

Malcolm smiled and said, over his shoulder, "I'm as surprised as you are." He gathered up the shirt bottom and pulled it over the boy's head. Angus's head popped through and he smiled up at his dad. Malcolm took his son's hand, threaded it through a sleeve, and then did the other. "There my lad, all dressed and ready for bed. Under the covers you go."

"Gus, did you brush your teeth?" Angus looked at his mom and shook his head. "Then off you go; you know how to do it." The child walked back to the bathroom. Maeve looked at Malcolm. He looked at her steadily. They said nothing. She turned and he took her arm.

"Maevie –" he did not know what to say next. This felt so right. This is what he had always wanted. He wanted this, a wife who loved him and a child who adored him. He had a good job, a nice house, the respect of his peers. What else was there?

She waited, saw his confusion and said, "I need to see what he is doing." She stepped away and he dropped his hand. He followed her, watching her walk, feeling the tingle he always felt when she walked ahead of him. She is beautiful.

"Oh, Gussie, no! What are you doing, Lad? You know better than that. Aw, Gus!" Maeve too

\  
k the toothbrush and a tissue and removed the glob of toothpaste piled on the bristles. "This is a waste and it will make you sick." She placed a dab the size of a pea on the bristles. "Here," she handed him the small toothbrush.

Angus looked up at his mom and smiled. He knew she would not be angry. He looked over at his dad and saw the man smile. The little boy's heart sang. His dad was going to live here again. He just knew it.

They put their son to bed, each giving and getting a kiss and a hug. "How about if I read you a story, eh, Lad?" The boy's face lit up with a huge smile and he nodded.

Malcolm glanced at Maeve and she smiled and said, "We've been reading a little of this one each night." She handed Malcolm, "The Wee Rabbit and His Friends." Malcolm took it, opened it at the bookmark and then did not know where to sit, what to do. He looked to Maeve and she saw his uncertainty.

"I usually sit beside him on the bed." Then to Angus she said, "You like to cuddle up, don't you, Sweet?" The boy nodded and scooted aside to make room for his dad. "He'll fall asleep after a page or two. Tuck him back under the covers and he'll sleep all night." She smiled at Malcolm and their eyes lingered. "G'night, my Sweet Boy. Sleep well."

Angus watched his mom turn and walk from his room. His dad sat beside him on the bed and Angus snuggled up and wiggled his head under his dad's arm. Dad doesn't know how to do this yet, he thought.

Malcolm hugged his son to him and began to read. He read with animation, making the characters seem alive. Angus Conway had never been happier. Malcolm Conway had never been happier.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby was in bed on his right side when Gleason returned. She changed into her nightgown and slipped into bed beside him. It was the first time they didn't wrap around each other.

They lay listening to each other breathe. Gleason was exhausted as she always was after an episode.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, he's asleep," Malcolm said, entering her bedroom after only twenty minutes.

Maeve stopped reading and looked up. She sat stretched out on the bed, fully dressed. They looked at each other. She placed her bookmark, closed the book and set it on the nightstand. She swung her feet off the bed and stood, walking toward the door where Malcolm remained.

She reached the door and he did not move. They stood, not touching. Without looking up at him, Maeve said quietly, "Malcolm, you should go."

He wanted to stay. He wanted to sleep with his wife, make love to her. He wanted to come home.

"Maevie, I, I want to stay tonight."

She had wanted to hear that for so long.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Very Early Sunday Morning

Bobby woke early and lay on his back feeling her warmth, hearing her breathe. They had not touched each other at all during the night. He felt a shallowness, a fear of what this meant. He did not want to lose her. His mind lingered on what she had said last night, 'maybe you should find someone else anyway,' and he felt sick.

Earlier in the week, Bobby had called Dr. Stephens to make the appointment for the couple's counseling; they would see her the next Saturday Gleason would be home, the week after next. He would do the same with Dr. Creighton. Bobby got up and went to the bathroom.

Gleason rolled onto her back when he returned to the bedroom. Their eyes locked. God he loved her. "Come back to bed," she said.

Bobby crossed to the bed and lay up on his left elbow, looking at her. Gleason turned toward him and put her left hand against his whiskery face, "I love you, I love you, but I cannot do that for you. Please understand," she whispered.

Bobby's right hand went to her arm; he bent and kissed her softly, then said, "That part is over."

Gleason's hand traveled from his whiskers to his neck, down his chest, over his hip and found his penis; she caressed him. Bobby jerked at her touch and she felt him unfold in her hand. He lay back and Gleason crept between his legs. She took him in her mouth and Bobby groaned, opening his legs wider. Gleason sucked and licked until his hands were in her hair, his hips were pushing upward and his grunts were coming faster and deeper.

"Stop, stop," he breathed, "come here." Bobby reached for her and Gleason sat on her heels. "Take that off and come here." She pulled her nightgown over her head and he reached for her. She moved to straddle him, but he said, "No, come here, I want to eat you."

Then she understood. Gleason crept up his body as he slid down in the bed. He pulled her closer with his hands on her bottom as she moved up his chest. They had never done this, she on his face. She knelt over his head, straddling his mouth, holding onto the headboard.

Bobby's thumbs pulled apart her lips and his tongue flicked her clit, teasing her. Gleason stiffened and hissed a deep breath. His tongue was light and quick on her clit, touching nothing but her tiny point. His hands moved to her hips. Gleason's breaths came fast. Oh, good; so good!

Bobby's tongue flicked, he didn't suck her, he touched nothing but her clit; and it drove her wild. "Please, eat me," she breathed. He continued to flick just her tiny tip. "Oh, god, Bobby, eat me, all over." He ignored her and flicked her clit slower. Gleason's juice dripped from her slit and he was tempted to catch it with his tongue. She began to move over his mouth, trying to get his tongue all over. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her still. His left hand slid down, around, under her bottom, between her cheeks and found what he sought; his fingertips brushed over it lightly. Gleason jolted.

"Fuck me, Bobby fuck me. Please." She was going to lose her mind if he didn't put something up inside her, his tongue, finger, dick, anything – she was desperate to come. Bobby's cock seeped and began to twitch. He was rock hard and wanted to fuck her; but this was fun, making her want him. He continued to flick lightly, so lightly, not hard enough to make her come. His fingers were feather light on their spot.

Gleason tried to lower herself onto his mouth, but he held her up. "Oh, god, fuck me. Do it. I need to come. Please, fuck me." Suddenly, Bobby stopped. Gleason moaned, thinking he was going to push his tongue or finger up her. She quivered, waiting.

"What do you want," he asked deeply.

"Fuck me, now," she answered.

"How?"

"I don't care. Make me come. Please!"

"Huh uh, this is fun." And he flicked her clit again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	24. Chapter 24

Designed Intent

Chapter 24

"Please, make me come!" Gleason squirmed in earnest now and Bobby knew he was crossing over into mean.

"How should I fuck you?"

"Just do it. In me. Make me come!"

Bobby slid out from under her, took her arms and turned her onto her back. She opened wide and grabbed for him. Bobby knew they both would come the instant he slid into her; so he knelt between her legs, took himself and guided his cock up and down her slit, not entering, just sliding up and down. Gleason arched and pushed, but Bobby was in control.

"No, no, wait for it," he whispered deeply, "I want you to want it. How's this? Feel good?" He wanted to slam into her in the worst way; but, even more so, he wanted her to wait.

She opened her eyes and glared at him, realizing what he was doing – teasing her. "Do it now. Do it."

Bobby smiled at her and poked the head of his dick inside, just the head. He hissed a breath, and pushed in a bit more. Oh god, hot! "You're so hot inside, so hot." He closed his eyes and pushed again, sliding in half. She clenched around him.

"Please fuck me. Push hard, Bobby, push hard," she begged.

Bobby placed a leg over each of his shoulders and held her thighs. Gleason pushed against him and he was up her totally. They both groaned at once. "Fuck me!" she whispered, "Do it. Hard."

Bobby pulled out, slid back in, and felt himself begin to release. He withheld, however, and slid out and then in and then out and then in, faster, harder. Gleason bucked up and came nearly silently, twitching and writhing. Bobby came with a feral grunt and jerked inside and out. Gleason came again, pushing against him, her finger rubbing her clit.

Slowly, they calmed; Gleason lay gasping, more so than usual. He slid her legs from his shoulders and lay beside her, up on his elbow. "Honey, are you alright? Gleason?"

Eyes shut tight; she dragged huge, deep gulps of air into her lungs. "Baby? Honey?" He smoothed hair from her face with the palm of his right hand. She opened her eyes and looked at him, her breathing slowing. "Are you ok?"

She nodded but said nothing. She just stared at him and he did not like the look he saw in her eyes. "Gleason?" He didn't know what to think. "Honey?" She rolled onto her left side and reached for the covers. "Gleason, what?" He tried to roll her back but she resisted.

Suddenly, Bobby saw red and he exploded, "Goddamn it, Gleason, don't fuck with me! What's wrong?"

She turned and nearly screamed, "I am not your toy! I asked you how many times to do it and you would not. It had to be when you were ready! You were teasing me. I wanted to come; I wanted you to make me come. But you wouldn't."

Hearing it aloud made it real for him. She knew what he was doing before he did. Bobby realized that he was not just teasing her; he was punishing her. He was not giving her what she wanted because she would not give him what he wanted. He used sex as a weapon; he had used their precious intimacy against her.

Gleason threw back the covers and stormed into the bathroom, slamming shut the door. She turned on the shower, and got in, relishing in the warm spray. She knew she was partly angry because she was not completely satisfied. She had wanted to come some more. If he won't do it, then I will, she said to herself. Her hand moved to herself and her middle finger began to rub. Oh, god, yeah.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malcolm bolted up, off the bed, stepped into his trousers, and dashed to his son's room. The child was sitting up, screaming and crying, his arms reaching for something, someone. Malcolm snapped on the light and strode to the bed, whipped back the covers and lifted his son, caressing him, rocking him, shushing him.

"Laddie, Laddie, shush. Shush Gussie. I'm here, Daddy's here. Shush, Love, shush."

Maeve came around the corner, tying her robe around her, and went to her son in his father's arms. The boy had stopped screaming but continued to cry and sob. His face was red and he was soaking wet. She put the back of her hand on his forehead; he was warm, but not fevered.

"He's wet his pajamas," he said to his wife.

Maeve went to his dresser and took another pair. "Here, stand him on the bed and let's get him out of those wet clothes." Malcolm nodded and turned to set the boy on the bed.

"Here, Gussie, stand up Son. Let's change your jammies. Stand up." Malcolm tried to put the boy on the bed, but the child clung to his father's neck and wailed. He wrapped his legs around Malcolm's waist. "Gussie, Love, let Daddy change your pajamas. Stand up, Angus. Stand up, like a big boy. Come on."

The child shook his head and clung tighter. Malcolm looked at his wife not knowing what to do. "Gussie, Dearheart, let Mummy hold you. Come; let Mummy hold her Sweet Boy." Maeve put her hand on the child's back and rubbed lightly. Angus turned his head from his father's neck and looked at his mother. His sobbing slowed. Maeve continued to stroke his back while Malcolm held him. "That's my Sweet Boy. Come; let Mummy hold you while Daddy changes your bed, ok? Here come to Mummy."

She put out her arms and Angus reached for her. She took him and Malcolm handed him over. "Oh, my sweet, sweet boy; oh, Gussie, Mummy loves you. Mummy loves you," she cooed into his hair. The little boy's crying had stopped and he hitched sobs.

"Malcolm, bring those pajamas into the bathroom, would you?" she said. He nodded and picked up the fresh clothes. Maeve crossed the hall to the bathroom and stood the child on the toilet lid, where his father had dried him. She pulled off his shirt and said, "Turn on the hot water and get a clean wash cloth for me, eh?"

Malcolm obeyed. "Where are his sheets? I'll change his bed."

"In the linen closet, second shelf."

Malcolm found the sheets, stripped the bed, including the leak-proof bed pad, and remade the bed with fresh sheets, pad and blanket. He finished as Maeve returned with the boy, all clean and dry. "Hey, Laddie, better?" The child lay against his mother's shoulder, his head resting on her, his thumb in his mouth. He didn't respond.

She laid the child in the bed, pulled up the covers and sat beside him. She smoothed back his hair, bent and kissed his cheek. Malcolm knelt beside the bed and took his son's hand. It was so small, frail. He bent and kissed the tiny hand. Angus wrapped his hand around his Dad's middle finger and held tight. The thumb of his other hand sat securely in his mouth. He looked from his mother to his father and back again. His parents looked at him and watched as their son's eyelids began to fall and he drifted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby laid thinking about what he had done and he hated himself. What is happening to us, he thought fearfully. This afternoon with his mother had been odd, certainly; but their time together afterward, getting ice cream, at the park, had been sad, but so loving. Bobby realized that each wonderful time seemed to be paid for by horrible fighting.

The shower stopped and he waited for Gleason to return to the bedroom; she seemed to be taking a long time. He pulled on the jeans he had dropped on the floor and went to see if she was all right. "Honey? Gleason?" he said at the bathroom door. "Gleason are you all right?" She didn't answer, so he opened the door and went in.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malcolm and Maeve returned to the bedroom. "It was a bad dream, that's all," she said, slipping off her robe and reaching for her nightdress.

"Don't wear it," Malcolm said softly, looking at her steadily, their eyes locked.

They had made love earlier, desperate and hurried; actually, they had had sex, not made love. Malcolm kissed her softly.

"Malcolm, wait, stop." She laid her left hand against his cheek, "What are we doing?"

"What?"

"We shouldn't do this." Maeve tried to move away, but Malcolm held her and pulled her close.

"Maeve, I want to make love to you."

Maeve stared at him and then got into the bed pulling up the sheet. Malcolm stepped from his trousers, dropping them on the floor and got in beside her. They lay side by side, neither moving, neither speaking. Neither knew what was next.

Malcolm sighed heavily and said, "Does he have these nightmares often?"

"No, not at all. He's a good sleeper."

"He's sucking his thumb again. And the dry pad under his sheet -- is he wetting the bed again?"

Maeve paused and said, "Aye. He's become a wee boy again, Malcolm." She waited to see if Malcolm had noticed anything else.

They lay beside each other, both looking at the ceiling. Malcolm slid his arm under Maeve's head and she moved closer. "Maevie, Angus said not a word whilst in the bath. He nodded, shook his head, he did as I asked. He laughed and squealed. He can hear, why doesn't he talk? What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know."

"When did he last speak?"

Maeve sighed and said, "He hasn't spoken in a while." She hesitated and then said, "Malcolm, he stopped talking a few days after you left." Maeve shifted to look at him, wanting to see what effect this truth would have.

Malcolm looked at her and felt his heart rush, "Are you saying I caused this?"

"Mal, all I'm saying is he stopped talking after you didn't come home for several days. Right after you left, he would ask where you were, when you were coming back, were you angry with him."

"What did you tell him?" he asked softly.

"I told him the truth. I assured him you were not angry with him, that you loved him as ever. I also told him I did not know where you were or when you would be coming back." They lay together, thinking of what to say next.

Maeve continued, "Gussie seemed to accept this and eventually he stopped asking about you. Then he stopped asking for anything. He began to point if he wanted or needed something. He would nod in response when I would speak to him."

"Does he talk at all?"

"Aye, I've heard him singing in his room and out in the garden. And, he talks to his animals, he reads to them; but he stops as soon as he sees me."

"What about school? Does he talk at school?"

"I spoke with his teacher about this and she said he no longer talks at school. She said he whispers to one little girl who then tells what he wants. The teacher called it 'selective mutism.' It's a psychological condition triggered by anxiety or trauma such as abuse."

"Abuse? Jesus, Maeve, we have never abused him, not in any way."

"The teacher asked if I knew what the problem was, what might be causing him stress."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her the truth – that Gus's father had left us."

This stopped Malcolm cold. A psychological condition? Because he left? Gussie is just a little boy. What have I done to my boy?

"Why haven't you said anything about this?"

Maeve hesitated again, and then answered, "Because you've not been around and, and I didn't think you would care."

A weight dropped onto Malcolm's chest. He loved his wife and his son. He had been foolish to leave them, selfish. He was sorry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason sat on the closed toilet seat, a towel around her body and another around her head. She rocked, staring at nothing. "Glea--, are you all right?"

She stopped rocking and looked up at him. "I can't do this anymore, Bobby. I can't fight with you anymore. I cannot take the emotional swings. I'm not strong enough to fight with you, love you, do my job . . . all of it. I can't do this anymore."

Bobby squatted down in front of her. "What are you saying?" he whispered.

She looked at him. Oh god, she loved him; but she was not strong enough to love him anymore. "Bobby, I need a break. We need a break. What we have is becoming toxic. I cannot continue to live like this."

No, no, no, no. No, she is not saying this, he thought. "Are you leaving me?" he breathed.

She closed her eyes and looked away. "I'm going to stay in Evanston for several weeks. We'll still talk, but I'm not coming home for a while." She looked at him and saw his rising panic, saw him struggle for control.

His hands moved toward her, but seemed fearful of touching her, "Gleason . . . let's . . . Honey, let's, let's talk with Dr. Stephens." He stood and she rose with him, he couldn't look at her directly, he could barely breathe. "P-please, don't do this. Jesus, Gleason, don't leave me," his voice was airy and weak. She saw him begin to shake.

Gleason knew his fear of abandonment. The phone conversation from the closet they had had when she had left him and gone to Evanston that first time rushed back from her memory. He had been a wreck thinking she had left him for good. She loved him and always would, but what they had right now didn't feel like love, not any more.

"Bobby, it's just a break. We'll talk as we have, we'll –,"

"I, I'm sorry. I'll change. I'll do whatever you want. Don't leave me. Don't leave me." He face bore the same dark look of pain he gets when life is at its most confused and painful. "Let's not do anything until we talk with Dr. Stephens. You need to come back and see Dr. Creighton. Gleason, don't, don't leave me. Don't leave me." His desperation was pathetic.

Gleason looked at him for a moment, stepped past him and returned to the bedroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

112


	25. Chapter 25

Designed Intent

Chapter 25

Sunday

Bobby was beside himself – she's leaving me, dear God, she's leaving me. He was afraid to do or say anything; he did not want to upset her. He could not live knowing that she didn't want him anymore. He had gone into the dark living room and sat in his chair, right leg bent with his foot on the seat; elbow on his knee, chewing his thumb.

Gleason had gone back to bed after telling him she wanted them to take a break from each other. She didn't want to leave him. She loved him, more than she had loved anyone; but she just couldn't take the fighting anymore. She was so tired, weak, she had no energy – she knew something was wrong with her, but she chose to ignore it.

"Bobby?"

He startled, as he hadn't heard her come from the bedroom. He stood and looked at her, but said nothing. She was dressed.

"I want to go back this morning. I'm going to stand by for a flight to Chicago. I'll get a cab."

He took a step toward her reaching for her, but didn't touch her. "Gleason –," he breathed out. "Don't, don't do this, please don't do this."

Softly, sadly, she answered, "I need to, Bobby. What we have is only going to get worse. I'm going back this morning."

He crossed to her and reached, but she stepped away. "I'm going, Bobby." She couldn't look at him.

"I'm begging you, don't go. Wait and go back tomorrow morning, like usual. Honey, we have so little time together."

Gleason's hands went to her face, much in the same way Bobby does. Suddenly she felt so weak that she had to sit down; she moved to the sofa and sat. Bobby squatted in front of her and took her wrists. "We have to talk, Gleason, we have to talk. Then, then we'll talk with Dr. Stephens when you come home. You'll be back in two weeks. You said you would do this, right?"

She looked at him and his pain drained her. "What is there to talk about?" she asked with resignation.

"Us. Honey, I, I don't want us to end. We can fix this. Please, let's fix us."

Gleason looked at him and said, "Bobby I don't have the energy. This is too hard, being here, with you, waiting for, fearing, the next fight. I, I just want to go to Evanston and do my work. I want to teach my classes and go back to the apartment and sleep. Grade my papers. Loving you is too hard anymore. I can't do it all." They stared at each other and she continued, "I need to go to Evanston."

Bobby stood and turned his back to her. His mind raced as he stood thinking, hands stuffed into his pockets. She stared at his wide, strong back.

"Do you love me?" he asked as he turned around. "Right now, do you love me?"

"Yes, Bobby, I do love you. You know that. I will probably always love you. I just can't be with you. I cannot stand the fighting."

"If you love me, then stay. We need to have today and tonight to be together and not fight. I swear, I won't do anything that will make us fight." His eyes pleaded with her, "We won't fight. I promise."

Gleason felt slightly lightheaded and put her hand to her forehead, she had no strength to argue with him; she felt slightly nauseous. She went to stand, but her legs buckled and she fell back onto the sofa. He was on her in a second.

"Gleason! Honey? Honey?" She was conscious, just dizzy. Bobby looked for his phone.

"I think I need something to eat," she whispered.

Bobby ran to the fridge and returned with a glass of orange juice. "Here," he helped her sit up better and she sipped the juice, her eyes closing in pleasure.

"Gleason, I'm going to call the paramedics. Something is –,"

"No! Please, I'm better. Don't. I'm ok now. My sugar was just low. We need to eat, Bobby. Get dressed and let's go get breakfast."

He was reluctant to leave her. He ran his hand over her head and wanted to kiss her, but was fearful. He stood and hurried back to the bedroom. Gleason finished the orange juice and carefully stood, testing her power. Her stomach felt better, she just needed a little fuel. Yeah, just a little fuel.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Here," Maeve handed Malcolm a mug of coffee, turned and poured one for herself.

"Thanks." Maeve sat with the paper open in front of her. "Can I have a part?" he asked.

Angus trotted into the kitchen and stopped dead when he saw his daddy at the table, suddenly shy, his finger going to his mouth. "Hey, Laddie, good morning. How's my boy today?" Malcolm folded the paper and held out his arms to his son. The boy looked at his father and then at his mother.

"Go on, Sweet, say 'good morning' to your dad," Maeve nodded to her son.

Gussie walked slowly to his father and leaned on his dad's knee. Malcolm picked up his son and set him on his lap. Angus immediately leaned on Malcolm's chest and put his thumb in his mouth. "Oh, Laddie, ye are t –,"

Maeve put her hand on Malcolm's upper arm and said softly, "Let him be, Malcolm, let him be."

Malcolm looked at Maeve and wrapped his arms around his little boy, and then planted a kiss on the top of his son's head.

Maeve stood and got Gussie a bowl of cereal, "Oh, look, Gus, the prize!" She held up some small plastic bit sealed inside a small plastic bag and handed it to him. Gus reached for it with a big smile and began to pull fruitlessly at the plastic. Suddenly, he held it up to his dad and said, "Open niss."

Malcolm and Maeve's eyes locked and slowly her hand went to her chest.

"Ok, here, Lad, let Daddy open it for you." Malcolm took the offered toy, pulled open the plastic bag and handed it back. "What do you say?"

"Tank you."

Maeve sat and Malcolm could see the tears in her eyes. Their boy would be fine. They would be fine.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby ordered a huge breakfast and Gleason ordered pancakes and bacon. Bobby was surprised at her choice, but said nothing. They had said little on the way to the restaurant. "Are you sure you feel ok?" he asked softly; he was terrified to say the wrong thing.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. I'll be even better after we eat," she said with a slight smile.

Bobby reached for her hands and she let him hold them, his thumbs siding over the backs. "Thank you, Sweetheart, thank you for staying." He could barely choke out the words.

She continued to watch his thumbs move over the back of her hands. "I'm worried, Bobby."

"About what?"

"Us."

He didn't know how to respond, so he said nothing. The server returned with her tea and his coffee and he let go of her hands. Gleason set the tea bag into the small pot of hot water and Bobby took her hands again. He was never going to let go of her. "We need help to fix this. Dr. Stephens will help us. She'll tell us what to do."

Gleason was sorry she had agreed to go with him to counseling. Once again, she had given in to him, agreed to do what he wanted. She closed her eyes and turned her head at this realization.

"What are you thinking?"

She looked at him and said, "Nothing."

"Honey, we have to start being honest with each other. I think that's part of the problem. I think we're trying to protect each other, by keeping things from each other."

She knew he was right. "I'm, I'm worried about going to see Dr. Stephens."

"It will be fine; she's a wonderful doctor. You'll like her."

"Bobby you saw her for months and it didn't work. You had to start up again with her. Why would you go back to a doctor who couldn't help you in the first place? What if she can't help us? What if she makes us worse?"

"Sweetheart, the first round of counseling with her was specific to being taken hostage. It had nothing to do with the rest of my life. This round is all about me. And you."

"See, that's part of it. I was shocked when I learned that you and she talk about me. I didn't know. I, I'm uncomfortable about her knowing things about me, us. I don't like to talk about us."

The server returned with their meals and the conversation halted. Suddenly, Bobby wasn't hungry. It had never occurred to him that Gleason would object to him talking about her, about them; she was so much a part of him. He tried to recall the specific bits he had told Dr. Stephens. He poked at his omelet as he thought.

Gleason slathered butter over each of the pancakes and then saturated them with syrup. She picked up a slice of bacon and broke off a piece with her teeth. She finished the strip and then cut into her pancakes. She speared a stack of pieces, looked at Bobby and noticed he was not eating. "Are you ok?" she asked.

He looked up at her with that pained look and nodded.

"What's wrong? Why aren't you eating?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking." He cut off a bite of omelet, began to eat, and was hungry again.

Gleason looked at him and then began to eat as well. She swallowed, speared another stack and said, "You cannot say 'nothing' anymore. If you want us to be honest, you have to be honest, too. What were you thinking about?" She watched him chew and swallow and then she put the forkful of pancake in her mouth when he set down his fork.

"I was thinking of how much I love you. How desperate I am to fix us. How hard it is going to be for you to talk with Dr. Stephens. How much I love you for doing it. I was thinking about us." Bobby looked across the table at her with resigned love.

Gleason returned his look and then realized something. She set down her fork and wiped her mouth. "Bobby," she whispered sadly, "what if we cannot be fixed?"

"We will be. We have to be. I cannot live without you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Mid Morning

"Honey, tell me why your chest hurts and you can't catch your breath." Bobby and Gleason were driving home from breakfast.

Gleason sighed and said, "Bobby . . ."

He glanced at her and reached for her hand. She took his and he squeezed hers. "Tell me."

"I don't know why. It seems to happen when I get upset. It always ends."

"How often does it happen?"

"When I get upset, I said."

"How many times?"

Gleason looked out the side window and didn't respond. She changed the subject with, "What have you told Dr. Stephens about me?"

Bobby's head tilted to the left, his left hand tightened on the steering wheel, his lips shut tight and he breathed through his nose. Jesus Christ! he thought, she's playing this fucking game.

Gleason looked at him and then slid her hand from his. They rode in silence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Noon

The lovers moved around the apartment in near silence. Gleason had made up her mind. She made sure she had her pills and cell phone. Bobby sat in his chair, in the living room, reading the Sunday paper; he didn't even look up when she came down the hall.

Gleason took her bag from its place behind Bobby's chair; made sure she had her ticket and took her wrap from the closet. Bobby turned at the sound of the closet opening.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'm going back, Bobby. I'll call you tonight, when I get to the apartment."

He was on his feet and the newspaper fell to the floor. "Don't."

She looked at him, turned and left. Bobby stood staring at the door and then went into the kitchen. He removed the nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf over the fridge and got a glass.

By two, the Jack Daniels was empty, by six the Glen Levit was gone, by eight the last five beers were done, by ten she still hadn't called, and by eleven, he was passed out in his chair.


	26. Chapter 26

121

Designed Intent

Chapter 26

Monday Afternoon

"Mrs. Goren, tell me about this little boy who has been visiting you." Dr. Shinto wanted to find out what he could about this latest hallucination. He wanted to analyze its significance, perhaps learn the root of its inception. "Mrs. Goren?"

Frances Goren sat in her chair in her room. It was raining outside. Frances did not like the rain; she found it depressing. Sylvia, her bi-polar roommate, found that hysterical, sad on a rainy day! Ha! No one else really saw the humor in that.

"Mrs. Goren, do you know who this little boy is?"

She looked over at the middle-aged man. "He's my grandson," she whispered.

"How old is he?"

She leaned in and whispered, "I'm not sure. I think he's three or four years old."

"What is his name?"

"His name is Chris Tian. That's a good name, isn't it? It almost sounds like 'Christian,' doesn't it? I like that name."

Dr. Shinto thought a moment. "You say Christian is your grandson. Is he Bobby's son or Frank's son?" He watched the older woman process this. She leaned her head to the left and her right hand massaged her left. She looked away. Then she shifted in her chair. Dr. Shinto gauged the anxiety level in his patient. This seemed to be a tough question. But why was it tough?

"Mrs. Goren?"

"Uhm, uh, he, Christian, he said, he told me, uh, he said that my son Bobby is his daddy and that Gleason is his mommy." There, she said it.

"Does Bobby have a son?" Dr. Shinto knew her younger son did not have a child, but he wanted to measure the woman's link to reality.

"Oh, no, I don't think he ever will. No, not my Bobby, I think he is afraid of having one turn out his mom. Frank may have a few strays out there somewhere, but I doubt he even knows about them. Poor kids." She shook her head and tsk-tsk-ed.

"When did Christian first come to you?"

Frances thought a minute and then replied, "I saw him standing off by himself in the common room. He was looking out the window, like he was watching for someone."

"When was this?"

"Uhm, uh, I, can't remember exactly, a few months ago." She hesitated and her voice softened, she gave the doctor a sidelong look just like Bobby would do. She asked, "Dr. Shinto, this, this little boy, my grandson, Christian, he's, he's not real, is he? He's in my head like the others." Frances Goren looked over the kind Japanese man.

"What do you think, Frances?"

She looked down at her hands. "I want him to be real. I love that little boy. He loves me. I want Bobby and Gleason to meet him." Mrs. Goren was quiet a few moments. "He knows Bobby and Gleason. He says they are his mommy and daddy." She was quiet a few more minutes. Dr. Shinto said nothing. He wanted to watch her process, consider. Her concentration was deep.

Then, she looked up, leaned her head to the left, and said, "No, he is real, he is real. Christian is my grandson. He is. He is Bobby's son. Gleason is his mother. He is real, Dr. Shinto, he is real! He is. You should meet him. Christian! Where are you, Sweet Pea?" Christian, come see Gramma. Christian?" Frances Goren struggled to her feet and her anxiety shot through the roof.

Dr. Shinto was on his feet, "Frances, Frances calm down. Mrs. Goren, sit down now. Come now; sit down in your chair."

Bobby's mother pushed away from the good doctor, calling for her grandson, her voice loud, frantic, "Christian! Come here; come see Gramma. Christian? Bobby? Bobby where are you? Where is Christian? Bobby! Gleason! Help, help me!" She was hysterical.

"Nurse! I need help in here! Mrs. Goren, please . . ."

"Bobby! Bobby! Gleason! Help! Help me!" As frail as she was, Bobby's mother began swing at the doctor, she began to cry, she sobbed, and she choked and coughed.

"Nurse!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Goren."

"Mr. Goren, this is Dr. Shinto."

"Is my mother all right?"

"She has had an episode. We have had to sedate her. Is it possible to make an appointment to speak with you sometime soon?"

Bobby rubbed his forehead with the fingers of his right hand. "What happened?"

"Please, Detective, it would be better for us to speak in person. Can you come today or tomorrow sometime?"

Bobby saw red; he felt his heart beat in his ears. Breathe, he told himself, calm down. He took a few deep breaths and then said steadily, "Dr. Shinto I want to know what happened. What kind of episode was it?"

Dr. Shinto did not like to discuss particulars on the phone. However, this man was not going to cooperate until he got some information. "All right, I will tell you this. I was speaking with your mother this afternoon about the new hallucination, the boy. She was calm and conversational until she asked me if the little boy was real; specifically, she asked if the child was another hallucination. Her considering the possibility that the child may just be another hallucination is a major breakthrough. It indicates that her self-awareness is increasing. That realization signifies that her understanding of the multi-dimensional aspect of reality is broadening.

"However, the breakthrough devolved into a break. She recanted the possibility of the boy being in her mind and escalated into the antithesis – that the little boy is real. Within seconds, her anxiety soared and she became hysterical. She was out of control and we had to sedate her."

Bobby felt sick to his stomach, his gut burned. His head began to pound. "Did you have to restrain her?" he asked softly. He absolutely hated when they bound her arms and legs to her bed. He had seen too many evil pieces of shit shackled and he did not want his mother to share the same shame.

"No, Detective, the medication worked quickly. She is still sleeping and will do so for another twelve hours or so."

Christ, he thought, when she does wake up, it will be three to five days before the effects of the drug are completely out of her system. She will be lethargic, unresponsive – a zombie.

"I can be there tomorrow afternoon, about five. Is that time good for you?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christian stood beside his Gramma's bed and looked at her. She is sleeping, he thought. "Gramma? Gramma," he whispered. She could not hear him. The medicine made her go to sleep. It made her sleep sticky and thick so that he could not pop into her dreams. He watched her eyes dart under her lids.

Christian sighed and sat down on the floor. Then he stretched out and looked at the ceiling. He rolled onto his side and looked under Gramma's bed – nothing there. He put his foot into her slipper; it felt funny.

This is no fun, he thought. He stood up, looked at his Gramma as she continued to sleep, and walked down the hall to the common room. He went to the window and looked out, watching for his mommy and daddy. He was worried about his mommy and daddy; they were so sad and afraid.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday Evening

Gleason had gone straight to bed when she returned to her apartment from O'Hare yesterday. She thought about calling Bobby, she had said she would; but she didn't.

She was at her office early this morning and had gotten an enormous amount of work done. After a quick lunch at Windy City, she returned to her office. Malcolm was nowhere to be found.

Bobby had not called her. She wondered if it was finally over.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	27. Chapter 27

127

Designed Intent

Chapter 27

Tuesday

Eames looked at her partner and knew something wasn't right. Bobby was late again this morning by nearly an hour and he was looking worse. He hadn't shaved and the circles under his eyes were raccoon-like. Even Deakins had noticed.

"What's going on with him?" he had asked Eames as Bobby shuffled to the coffee room.

"I have no idea." Eames did not want to mention that Bobby had been late again this morning; Deakins did not know about yesterday and he didn't need to know about today.

"Is he holding his own?"

"Yeah, sure, he's been quiet, but . . . yeah, he's ok."

Deakins knew Alex would protect her partner as best she could. "If you think something is up, you let me know."

Eames nodded and Deakins walked away. Bobby returned and dropped heavily into his chair. She looked at him and asked tentatively, "So, how's Gleason been?"

He ignored her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her class was on a short break and Gleason was exhausted. She looked at her phone to see if Bobby had called, he hadn't. She wanted to call him, but knew she wouldn't.

She wondered where Malcolm was, she hadn't seen him at all today.

The students reassembled and her class resumed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday Afternoon

"Are you heading out?" Eames asked.

"Huh?"

"Are you heading out?" It was four-fifteen and things had pretty much stalled on both cases.

"Uh, yeah, in a bit. Tomorrow I want to find out more about the antique necklace taken in the jewelry heist. Silverthorne, the owner, is suddenly not cooperating. You talked to him; do you think he's withholding anything?"

Eames slipped on her coat and replied, "Silverthorne is an eccentric old man. It's hard to tell what he is doing."

"But what's your impression?"

"Bobby, this case has gone cold. Let it go. We have those counterfeit books to work."

"Yeah, I know, I know."

Eames looked at him and worried a wee bit. "Listen, do you want to go get a drink or something?"

"Uh, no, thanks. I've got an appoin–, no, not tonight." He closed up his desk and shrugged on his coat."

"Ok, I'll see you in the morning." He didn't respond. Eames headed out ahead of him.

Bobby looked at his watch; her afternoon class would be over in about an hour.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason was walking to her office from her first class and saw Malcolm heading toward her. She quickened her steps.

"Well, hello," she said as they met, smiling broadly, "I haven't seen you around."

Malcolm looked at this beautiful woman and his mind raced with confusion. God, she is beautiful, he thought, and she's being so friendly. He had stayed the weekend with his wife and son – and it had been wonderful. He wanted his family back and he wanted the woman in front of him, too.

"I've been pretty busy these past few days. How was your weekend?"

Gleason glanced away at the mention of her time with Bobby, glanced back at Malcolm and said, "Would you like to have dinner Thursday night?"

Malcolm was shocked, then ecstatic, then confused. "Uh, yes. Yes, Gleason, that would be wonderful. What do you have in mind?"

Oh, she thought, do not do this; but she pushed that away and said, "Why don't you come to my place at seven. I'll prepare us something. You bring the wine, ok?"

Malcolm felt himself twitch in his trousers. He smiled and put his hand on her upper arm and squeezed gently.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Early Tuesday Evening

Bobby drove to his appointment with his mother's psychiatrist from One Police Plaza north to Carmel Ridge, about thirty-five minutes away. He thought about his mother and he thought about Gleason, he was losing both of these women and it was killing him.

"Mom," Bobby looked at his mother curled up in her bed. She looked asleep; he knew she was not. She was semiconscious and completely without affect. He pulled up the side chair and sat back, putting his right ankle over his left knee. With his fingers tented against his lips, Bobby looked at her. A shell, she is a shell, he thought. Gleason had looked just like this after the miscarriage. His mother and his love, the only things that mattered to him, his only reasons to live.

"Hey, Bobby, how are ya? Good to see you. Your mom still sleepin'? Yeah, she's gonna be asleep for a while yet. That always happens when she flips out like that, don't it? Too bad that happens. She's a nice lady, your ma. I got lucky to have her as a roomy, ya know? Coulda wound up with a real wacko like that Miss Coarsen down the hall. God ain't she one? Moanin' all the time, crying all the time. God, I could not put up with that one. Your ma, though, a sweetheart. Yep, a real sweetheart."

Bobby wiped his hand over his face and tried to smile at Sylvia, his mother's roommate. Apparently, Sylvia was manic at this time. Sylvia was bipolar and did not respond to any medication. Her family placed her here to keep her safe. She would talk nonstop until he left. He would have to take a walk in a bit, just to stop the endless talk.

"Mr. Goren," Dr. Shinto came up behind and beside Bobby's chair and Bobby rose and turned.

"Dr. Shinto," the men shook hands. Sylvia kept on talking to Bobby and then noticed the psychiatrist.

"Hey, Doc, how are ya? Good to see you. You still workin' here? Yeah, I guess you are. I got to tell ya . . ."

"Let's find a quiet place, shall we?" Dr. Shinto said to Bobby. They left and Sylvia kept talking.

Dr. Shinto led Bobby to his office and shut the door. He gestured to a chair and went to his desk. The doctor picked up Frances Goren's file and opened it, flipping a few pages.

Bobby leaned forward and said, "Dr. Shinto, what happened to her? What caused this break? She was doing so well."

"As I told you on the phone, Mr. Goren, your mother was on the verge of a tremendous breakthrough. Unfortunately, as I feared, her perception of the hallucination corrupted and she devolved."

Bobby listened and then asked, "Why did it corrupt? You had said this hallucination gave her pleasure. What happened? Why did it upset her?"

Dr. Shinto did not know. Mrs. Goren had never had a dual source hallucination before this. The fact that she suddenly heard and _saw_ a new person, a child nonetheless, was odd in itself.

"I do not know, Mr. Goren. Perhaps you can help us track the source of this hallucination. Most hallucinations have a root in reality. What young children are members of your family?"

"There are none. Frank has no children that I know of. Gleason and I have no children." Bobby looked down and shook his head. The miscarriage crossed his mind. No, it couldn't be. He had not told his mother about it. It couldn't be. No. No.

"What are you thinking, Mr. Goren?" Dr. Shinto had watched the other man process, his face a screen displaying a fleet of anxious thoughts.

Bobby looked up surprised, "I'm sorry?"

"You were considering a possibility. What is it?"

"Uhm, well, the, the way Mom described that little boy – dark curly hair, dark red in the sunlight, the blue eyes – well, Gleason and I, we, uh, that sounds like what a child of ours might look like." Bobby said all of this looking at the floor and then looked at the good doctor.

Dr. Shinto thought about this, he could see that. "Now that you mention it, I can where her visitor might look like your child." He continued to think and then said, "Perhaps this hallucination is a manifestation of a tremendous desire for a grandchild."

Bobby wanted to tell the doctor the rest, the parts about the child having Gleason's father's name and about the miscarriage. "Doctor, I need to tell you two more things."

Dr. Shinto leaned in, listening carefully, "Yes?"

"Gleason had a miscarriage three months ago. She was three months pregnant."

"I am sorry. What do you --,"

Bobby closed his eyes and held up two hands to stop the doctor from continuing, "Let me finish. My mother said the child's name is Christian." Bobby looked straight at the doctor and continued, "Christian is Gleason's father's name."

Dr. Shinto had heard and seen many odd, weird, even spooky things in his work; but this, this actually gave him a chill.

"My mother does not know about the miscarriage. She does not know Gleason's father's name."

The men stared at each other. Finally, Dr. Shinto stood up and came from around his desk. "I do not know what to say, Mr. Goren."

"I don't know what to think, Doctor."

The men were quiet for a long moment. Then Dr. Shinto offered, "Your mother naming the child with Gleason's father's name may be nothing more than a coincidence. The fact that this manifestation began following a loved one's miscarriage, may be nothing at all; especially since she has no knowledge of that event.

"Mr. Goren, I am thinking that this hallucination may be the result of an overpowering desire for a grandchild. It manifested after she met Gleason. Perhaps, in her mind, your mother sees the two of you as married, giving her the grandchild she wants so badly. Since she does not have one, she made up one. Like some children have an invisible friend."

Bobby thought about this. "So, maybe it's not even a real hallucination, maybe it's a child she just made up?" The hope was obvious in his voice.

"It is a possibility, Mr. Goren. However, let us consider everything. If the child was truly in her imagination and not a hallucination, why then did she break? A challenge concerning an imaginary friend would not result in such a traumatic climax. Challenging a hallucination, could; and did."

Bobby stood up. "So what do we do? What happens next?"

"We will wait for her to emerge from this stupor. We will observe her constantly, watching for and recording each manifestation. Then we will plan our sessions carefully to find out what we can." Dr. Shinto knew this was not enough for the tall son. "That is all I can offer at this point, Mr. Goren."

"What can I do? Anything?"

"You can go be the good son that you have always been. Sit with her, talk with her. But do not bring up the hallucination. Talk with her."

Bobby ran his hand down the back of his head and neck. "Thank you, doctor. I'm going to sit with her for a while. Thank you." The men shook hands and Bobby returned to his mother's room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	28. Chapter 28

132

Designed Intent\

Chapter 28

Tuesday Night

Bobby returned to his mother's room from speaking with Dr. Shinto about her prognosis. He stopped dead when he saw the man sitting beside the bed. "Frank? What are you doing here?" Bobby said to his brother, sitting in the chair Bobby had vacated.

Frank stood at the greeting and turned, "Bobby. Glad to see you, too." He put out his hand and Bobby ignored it.

"What do you want? Money? How much are you down?"

"Jesus, Bobby, can't I just come and see Mom?" Frank turned and looked down at their mother, she hadn't moved. "What's wrong with her anyway? She isn't like this all the time, is she? She looks drugged up."

Bobby wiped his face with his hands. "Frank, why are you here?" He said this slowly, softly, with resignation.

"I had a feeling something was up. I wanted to see her. That's all. Is she ok? Did something happen?"

"You should probably talk with her psychiatrist. He will tell you what you want to know. His name is Dr. Shinto. He's in his office right now."

Frank looked at his younger brother; something's up, he thought. "I will, but not right now. You want to go talk? Come on, let's go sit somewhere and talk." He moved away from the bed and took a step toward the door. "You coming?"

Bobby looked at their mother, then at his brother; he turned and followed Frank.

They sat in the two wing chairs in the nearly deserted common room. "So, little brother, how have you been? What's new?"

"Our mother is heavily sedated and will be like this for the next ten days or so. That's what's new," Bobby scowled.

"Yeah, I figured this wasn't just a nap. What's wrong with her? Is she going to be ok?"

Bobby thought he heard genuine concern in his brother's voice. "She has manifested a new hallucination – visual and auditory. Dr. Shinto was talking with her about it and she got upset. She broke and they had to sedate her. It's a big set back."

"You mean she saw this hallucination? It's not just a voice in her head?" Bobby nodded and Frank asked, "What does she see?"

Why is Frank so interested, Bobby wondered. "She's seeing and talking with a little boy. The doctor said this hallucination was pleasant for her."

"A kid? She's seeing a kid? Why? What kid?"

"I don't know, Frank. I don't know." Bobby didn't trust his brother; Frank had never given anyone any reason to trust him. "Listen, why are you here anyway? When was the last time you came to see her? What do you want?" Bobby felt himself getting hot. Jesus, his brother could get under his skin.

Frank looked down, his head tilted to the left – just like his brother and mother. "Like I said, I just wanted to see her. Is that so bad?" They looked at each other. "So, you married or anything?"

That's Frank, the attention span of a gnat. Bobby considered just telling his brother to leave. But he wouldn't do that, Frank had a reason to be here; he just wasn't telling yet. "No, not married." Bobby wrestled with the idea of whether to mention Gleason or not, he wasn't sure of where their relationship was, or if they even had a relationship any more. "But, uh, I've got someone."

Frank's eyebrows shot up, he was not expecting to hear this; he always saw his little brother as a solitary freak. "Yeah? No kidding? So, tell me about her. What's she like?"

Bobby took a deep breath and began, "She's a professor at Northwestern. We've been together about six months."

"A professor, huh? How'd you meet her?"

"She was an expert witness on a case. We went for coffee and then we started dating." He didn't want to tell Frank the rest of that story – the stalking, shooting, nearly loosing her, his food poisoning, his abduction, her leaving him, the miscarriage, their current turmoil – it was too much.

Frank looked at his brother. He saw how Bobby's face brightened when he spoke of this woman. He really loves her, Frank thought. "So, is she the one?"

Bobby looked down, his face darkened, and he spoke to the floor, "I, I don't know; it's, it's not . . ., I think so; I, I hope so."

"So? You love her; does she love you, too?"

"It's, it's not easy," he responded, avoiding the truth.

"So, are you going to ask her to marry you?"

Bobby sat up, looked at his brother, and said quietly, "It's complicated, Frank."

"What? She married, got a kid?"

"Jesus Christ, Frank! No, nothing like that." Bobby was disgusted. He stood and said, "Why don't you go? Huh? Just go."

"What? Aw, come on. Lighten up, will you? Christ Bobby, stop being so sensitive. Sit down and let's talk. Come on, sit down." Bobby looked darkly at his brother; he twisted his head to the left, and then sat. "There, what's complicated?"

Bobby sighed and answered, "She's living in Chicago, Evanston, actually. She gets home every other weekend. I get up there one weekend a month. It's been hard, though. I'm, I'm called out a lot on weekends. We don't see each other so much. It's been hard, being apart."

"Hey, you love her, she loves you – that's all that matters. What's her name? She pretty?"

"She's beautiful, tall, red hair, blue eyes. Her name is Gleason Wintermantle. She's smart, kind, funny, Scottish." Bobby smiled sadly, thinking of her, wondering.

"So, why don't you marry her? Bring her home to New York. Get her pregnant. How old is she?"

Bobby sat back and exhaled deeply, "We're, we're not going to have kids, Frank," Bobby replied softly and gave his brother a sidelong look.

Frank said nothing, knowing exactly what his brother meant. Frank always used a condom; he was taking no chances. However, his reasoning was child support – he did not want to have to pay eighteen years for two minutes of feel-good.

"What about you? Why are you here? Are you in trouble?" Bobby gave Frank another sidelong look.

Frank looked at the floor. "I'm, I'm jammed up, Bobby. I know, I know," and he put up two hands, palms out, just like his brother does, "I, I just wanted to see Mom before I gave you a call."

Son-of-a-bitch, thought Bobby, I knew it! Goddamn him. He put his right ankle over his left knee and tilted his head into his right hand, elbow on the chair arm. "How much are you down?" he asked darkly.

Frank hated this part. Fuck, he hated coming to his little brother. Goddamn punk, always the good child – even now. "You know, Bobby, never mind. I don't need your help. I'm going to sit with Mom for a while and then I'll be gone." He stood up, turned and headed to the hallway.

Bobby sat slouched in the chair. He was miserable, he missed Gleason, he was worried about his mom, Frank was a nuisance again, Eames was being weird, and both cases had stalled. Shit. He pushed himself up and headed to his mother's room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Frank stayed with their mother only a few minutes and then left before Bobby got there. After thirty minutes of watching his mother vegetate, Bobby left and drove south back into the city growing angrier and more frustrated with each mile. Frank always provoked the worst from Bobby. His whole life, Frank had goaded Bobby into feeling bad, guilty, embarrassed, at fault; Bobby never measured up to his brother, the favorite son.

Talking about Gleason had ripped the scab off his feelings about their situation. He wanted to call her, why hadn't she called him? He hated playing games like this. He was tired of her sensitivities, everything had to be her way. Just like with Frank, everything was his fault. Bobby's mind and heart grew darker as he headed back to the city.

Once in town, he headed to the gym thinking he could run off this funk, clear his mind, and think about what to do. Bobby ran on the treadmill until he could barely stand. As had happened before, that sweet young thing wandered over and she handed him a towel. He took it, looked her up and down, felt his dick jerk alive and said, "Tomorrow, let's go for that drink." The sweet young thing smiled broadly.

On the way home, Bobby stopped at a package store and purchased more of his two new best friends – Jack Daniels and Glen Levit. He flipped open his phone and left a message for Dr. Stephens that he would have to miss his morning appointment. It was late when he finally got home. He settled in his chair with the last of the first bottle of scotch and a glass, the new bottle at the ready. He sat, drank, and hated himself all night long.


	29. Chapter 29

136

Designed Intent

Chapter 29

Wednesday Morning

He woke to the sound of the alarm buzzing in the bedroom; he had fallen asleep, or had passed out, in his chair. Bobby stirred and lightening bolts shot through his head, blinding him and lurching his stomach. He sat for a moment and cautiously opened his eyes and realized that the crotch of his pants was wet. Awww Christ! he thought. He stood up and the glass rolled off his lap; he had spilled his last drink into his lap last night, thank God he hadn't wet himself.

Bobby made his way to the bedroom and shut off that goddamn alarm. He stripped out of his clothes, leaving them on the floor and walked into the bathroom where he promptly threw up. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth and threw up again. He brushed his teeth one more time and continued to feel like shit. He returned to the bedroom, stretched out across the bed and missed her, battling with himself whether to call her. He wanted to hear her voice; he wanted her to love him again.

However, he was so tired of feeling bad, feeling sorry, feeling cautious. He was tired of trying so hard. Loving her should not be this hard, he told himself. Hell, he had no idea what she was doing with that Malcolm up there. She could be sleeping with that bastard and Bobby would never even know.

Something was wrong with her heart, he was certain of it, and she won't do anything about it. He had had to beg her to see Dr. Stephens with him and now she was trying to get out of it. It was as if she didn't care about herself or him; it was obvious she didn't care about them together.

For the next forty minutes, Bobby drove himself crazy and miserable arguing with himself and ended up convincing himself that he was doing all the work to make this relationship work. The more he thought, the angrier he got. He was beyond feeling sad; he was pissed.

Finally, he hauled himself off the bed and began to dress. Before he left the bedroom, he rummaged in the drawer of his bedside table looking for the condoms Estella had left that first weekend he and Gleason had been together. He took one and slipped it into his front pocket. Then, he took a fifty from the money envelope under the crockery pot on his dresser top and slipped it into his money clip, returning the clip to his pocket.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday Evening

After work, Bobby headed straight to the gym and parked away from most of the other cars. He moved the condom from his front trouser pocket to his shirt pocket and went in, walking toward the counter.

The sweet young thing perked right up when she saw him, "Hi! Are you going to work out first?"

"You ready?" he said flatly, not looking directly at her. She slid off her stool, grabbed her purse and bounced around the end of the counter, leaving her friend in charge.

"Yeah, where do you want to go?" she looked up at him smiling broadly. God, he is so tall, so strong.

"My car." He held open the door; she stepped through, he followed and she wrapped her arm around his.

He unlocked his SUV with his clicker, opened the driver's side door, reached in and adjusted the driver's seat all the way forward, pushing the seat back forward as well and then he slammed shut the door. He opened the door behind the driver's seat and stood aside for her to get in. She looked up at him and said, "I thought we were going to get a drink?"

"Get in," he told her.

She hesitated a moment but obliged. He followed her in, pulled shut the door, and began undoing his belt. She watched him unbutton the band and lower his zipper, sliding his trousers down a bit and lifting himself free. "Suck me," he said flatly.

She looked at him and then slipped off her sweatpants and thong, unzipped her hoodie and her breasts bounced free. His eyes went to them and his mouth wanted to, his hands fondled her. He lifted and squeezed her breasts; they were much bigger, firmer and rounder than Gleason's were. He ran his thumbs over the nipples, flicking them, tweaking and twisting them. She knelt up beside him and said, "Want a taste?"

His eyes moved from her breasts to her eyes and his hands dropped, "Suck me."

The sweet young thing leaned in to kiss him and he jerked his head away and said, "No!" She didn't understand, and then didn't really care. She got down between his knees, moved aside his shirttail and said, "Oh my God, you are huge!" staring at his semi hard cock. She took it with her right hand and he jerked slightly.

"Suck it," he said.

The girl smiled up at him and took in the whole thing, licking and sucking like he had never been licked and sucked. Jesus Christ! he thought and leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed, left hand going for her head. Oh God!

She stopped and looked up at him, "Don't come in my mouth, ok? Don't come in my mouth," and she took in his length again, her finger going at her nub, rubbing hard, sliding in and out of herself.

Bobby's hips began to move as he felt himself rush to come. Short, hard grunts escaped his lips. Oh, god, she sucked hard, hard! She was fast and rough; so different from Glea–, he shut off that thought. Bobby's fingers tightened in the girl's hair, and he held her head as he began to shove up into her mouth. What this girl could do!

Suddenly, he pulled her head away by the hair and said, "Stop! Stop!"

She stopped and breathed out, "A condom, you got one?" she was soaking wet and wanting it.

Bobby pulled the condom from his shirt pocket, ripped it open and rolled it on in a hurry. "C'mere," he said breathlessly, pulling her up by the arm.

The sweet young thing straddled his lap, set her hands on his shoulders and went to kiss him. He jerked his head back again and turned away, "No! Don't."

He held her left hip with his right hand and guided himself to her opening with his left. She felt like a doll in his enormous hands.

He's so big, she thought. She's so tiny, he thought. Fuck me, she thought. He put the head at her slot and she dropped down hard; he jerked and she gasped, oh God, God!

Bobby had never been inside anything so small and tight. He was afraid to hurt her. "You ok?" he gasped.

She ground down on him and he took that as a yes. She pulled up and pushed down in her own rhythm. He let her do the work as she knew what was good for her; it was all good for him. She made no sounds as her nether mouth swallowed him in and pushed him out; it was like fucking the neck of a bottle.

Oh, God, he was going to come. His fingers gripped her ass tighter, and began pushing and pulling her up and down. Oh, oh, now! He growled out and pushed up, pulling her down onto him, jerking up into his condom, feeling the hot wet spread around his dick. She continued to move on him and slipped her hand between his crotch and hers, finding her clit and rubbing hard. Suddenly, she whined softly and her pussy twitched on his softening dick as she came.

They settled and she leaned in again to kiss him but he jerked away with a sharp, "No!" He couldn't look at her as he gently lifted her off his lap. She sat beside him, looking at him, wanting him again. "Get dressed," he told her darkly. She maneuvered into her sweatpants ignoring, forgetting, her thong.

She zipped up her hoodie just a few inches while Bobby searched for his handkerchief; he found it and used it to remove the nearly half-full condom. He folded the wet, rubbery mess into the cloth, wiped himself and stuffed the sticky, full handkerchief back into his pocket. He finished dressing his lower half and removed the money clip from his front pocket, found the fifty he had slipped in there this morning, just for this purpose, and held it out to her. "Here."

She looked at the bill between his fingers, not knowing what to think. "Are you kidding me? You're going to _pay_ me? Like some _whore_? What do you think I am? Some _skank_?" Secretly she wanted that fifty, it was not a bad deal being paid for a fabulous fuck. He was the biggest thing ever to find its way up her snatch. Jesus. She didn't want to piss him off, either; she wanted more of this big boy.

"Take it and get out," he told her darkly, not looking at her.

She hesitated, looked at him then at the bill, took it from his fingers and asked, "We gonna do this again?"

"Get out," he replied.

He watched her open the passenger side door and hop out. She turned and looked back at him and slid her hands over her breasts and said, "We can do this again, anytime you want. And it won't cost you a dime." She smiled, zipped up her jacket the rest of the way and shut the door.

Bobby sat in the back seat, in the dark. What the fuck have you done? he asked himself, what have you done? Jesus Christ, you are no better than your old man and your screw-up brother. This was worse, though, he was in love with Gleason. Oh God. He sat in the back with his hands over his face, hating himself.


	30. Chapter 30

141

Designed Intent

Chapter 30

Thursday Morning

"I was just about to call you," Eames hissed at him as he shrugged out of his coat. It was the fourth day in a row he was late. "Deakins is livid and he wants to see you." Eames noticed how bad Bobby looked this morning – again. "Are you all right?"

Bobby hung up his coat, ignored her question and walked to Deakins office. He knocked and the boss waved him in. Bobby shut the door, took a seat, slouching back, and said, "You wanted to see me?"

Deakins came around the desk and said, "I want to know what the hell is going on with you," he said, his anger barely under control.

Bobby looked up at the Captain and didn't care that he was about to get his ass chewed. "What do you mean?"

"Don't screw with me; you've been late every morning this week. You look like shit. Are you drinking again?"

Bobby looked away and fingers of his left hand stretched over his lips. Deakins waited for him to respond. When it didn't come, Deakins said softly, "Dr. Stephens called me this morning and wanted to know if everything was all right with you. Why did you cancel your appointment with her yesterday?"

Bobby remained silent, avoiding his boss's eyes. Deakins figured Gleason was a part of his current state. "Bobby, what's going on?" He watched his best detective say nothing. "Is Gleason all right?"

"I don't need to explain anything to you. Are we done?"

"No, we are not done and yes, you do need to explain yourself. Whatever is going on in your personal life is affecting your ability to do your job. Showing up late four days in a row and canceling a session with your mandated psychiatrist constitutes dereliction and negligence. Now, tell me what is going on. Have you been drinking?"

Bobby's eyes swung and met Deakins' eyes, "So what if I have been?"

"Why?"

"It's none of your business," and he looked away.

"Yes it is, Bobby, it's affecting your work. Why are you drinking?"

Bobby did not want to go into it with his boss. He did not want to say that it was over between him and Gleason. He did not want to say that he had caused their break up. He did not want to say that he had paid a woman for sex and would probably do so again. He did not want to talk about the lousy man he had become. He hated himself and did not want to talk about any of it.

"Can I go back to work now?"

Deakins wasn't sure what was going on but he was getting damn tired of the Goren crises. "Dr. Stephens wants to see you at one."

Bobby looked sharply at the Captain and asked, "What? Today?"

"Yes, she's coming here. Be prepared to stay several hours."

Bobby stood and said, "I've got work to do."

"Sit down and listen to me." Bobby turned with his hand on the door handle. "I do not want to suspend you again, but I will if I have to. You are going to get help whether you like it or not. Do you understand me?"

Bobby's shoulders slouched, his left hand wiped over his face and he said with tremendous resignation, "Look, I'll go next Wednesday. I'll be on time from now on. Nothing will interfere with my work. Now can I go?"

"Sit your ass down and listen to me." When Bobby glared back, Deakins said, "I'm not telling you again."

Bobby returned to his seat, slouched back, laid his right ankle over his left knee and tented his fingers in front of his lips. He looked like a recalcitrant middle school student sitting in the principal's office.

"Dr. Stephens will be here at one. You will meet with her and tell her whatever she wants to know. You will do whatever she wants you to do. I will not put up with your drama any longer. I need you to do the job you were hired to do. Do you understand me?"

Bobby knew Deakins was right. He knew that if he didn't get help, he was going to end up like his father and sorry-ass brother. He glanced at his boss and held up his open hands, palms out. "Ok, ok. I'll talk with her."

"Good. Now get back to work. I told your partner you are not to leave today; now I'm telling you."

Bobby nodded and stood. Deakins walked back around his desk and picked up the phone. Bobby crossed to his desk and dropped into his chair.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason woke feeling sluggish. She had to sit on the edge of the bed before she trusted her legs to get her to the bathroom. Something is wrong, she said to herself, something is wrong with me. She knew she wasn't pregnant as she took that pill religiously. Besides, she didn't feel the same as she had when. . . That memory was pushed aside and she considered the other possibility – her heart. I don't have time for that, she said to herself.

The shower ran over her back and she thought of Bobby. Why has he not called me? She wanted to hear his voice, hear him say he loved her. She wanted them to be as they once were. Call him, she told herself, just call him.

Malcolm was coming for dinner tonight. Why had she invited him, she wondered. Because she could no longer love Bobby, it was too hard to love Bobby. All they did was fight. Malcolm wanted her; she knew that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The nurse recorded Mrs. Goren's blood pressure, checked her catheter and the IV site on the back of her hand, adjusted the saline drip that kept Frances hydrated and straightened the covers. "Sleep peacefully, nice lady," the nurse said before she left.

Christian sat cross-legged in his Gramma's chair, watching the nurse look after his Gramma. The child was anxious for her to wake up. His daddy and mommy were sad and mad at each other and they were getting into trouble. Christian knew his daddy had done something bad, but he wasn't sure what it was. Last night, his daddy had played with another lady who was not his mommy. His daddy liked playing with that lady a lot because she made him feel really, really good; but after they played, his daddy didn't like that he had played with her. His daddy was full of darkness.

Christian knew his mommy was sick and he worried about her. She always made his daddy sad and always made his daddy mad at her and Christian didn't like that, but he worried about her anyway. His mommy was going to play with another man tonight, a man who was not his daddy. His mommy was full of grayness.

The little boy sat in the chair and fretted. Wake up, Gramma, wake up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"We got a hit on that necklace," Eames said as she hung up the phone, "That was Al Marzullo, manager of the Ready-Cash Pawn on Twenty-sixth and Christopher. Someone showed up with a Polaroid of it asking about approximate worth. He recognized it from the alert and called."

"Did you tell him to pull the security video?" Bobby answered.

"Yes, I told him" she replied with scorn. "I'm going to head over there." Neither said anything else, knowing that Bobby was stuck inside again. He didn't really care; Eames was better at the initial interviews anyway. Eames slipped on her coat and headed out without another word.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Should I get a red or a white? Which do you prefer?" Malcolm asked as he fell into step with Gleason as she walked from Margrave to her second class. "I'm really looking forward to this, tonight."

Gleason was looking forward to it as well. It would be nice to have an evening with a man and not be worried about launching into an argument. "How does pork chops with vegetables and a fruited tart for dessert sound?" she replied with a smile.

"And who might be that fruited tart?" he asked ginning, casually setting his hand on the middle of her back.

She liked the feel of his hand on her back; she was looking forward to tonight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday afternoon

Bobby saw Dr. Stephens turn the corner from the elevators and head for the bullpen. Shit, he thought. He rose to greet her with his hand out, "Dr. Stephens."

"Detective." She was shocked at his appearance. He's been drinking she said to herself. This is not good, not good at all. "I'm going to speak with Captain Deakins and then you and I will talk."

Bobby nodded and Dr. Stephens walked to Deakins' office. "Captain," she said as he greeted her at the door. "Dr. Stephens, thank you for making the trip. I'm sorry you had to do this. Come in, please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?"

"No, no thank you." They settled in and Dr. Stephens began. "He looks terrible. What's going on with him?"

"That's what I need you to find out. I am sure he's drinking again; but I have no idea why."

"Has he said anything at all? About his mother or Gleason?"

"No, nothing."

"When did this start?"

"He's been late every morning this week; by as much as ninety minutes. That's very unlike him."

"Has his work suffered, aside from the tardiness?"

"That's the thing, he's still doing the work, albeit slowly. His partner says he's holding his own. It's his attitude, I suppose, that's concerning me. And his health. He's not sleeping, and the drinking isn't good for him. This is going to affect his work at some point. I fear he's going to break one of these days."

"Well, I'll talk with him and see what I can find out." Deakins and the doctor stood and walked to Bobby's desk.

Deakins looked at Bobby and said, "You and Dr. Stephens can use IR 3 for as long as you need." Bobby glared back at him and Deakins continued, "I don't have to worry about you cooperating, do I?"

Bobby stood, threw his pen onto the desk and headed toward the interrogation room. Dr. Stephens and Deakins glanced at each other and she followed the tall man down the hall.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	31. Chapter 31

146

Designed Intent

Chapter 31

Thursday Afternoon

Bobby stood at the door to IR3 waiting for Dr. Stephens. He was miserable, his head hurt, his gut burned, he was thirsty and he sure as hell did not want to talk with this shrink.

"Have seat, Detective," Dr. Stephens said as she laid her coat over the back of the chair and set her bag on the floor. She sat across from Bobby and opened her notebook, her pen in her right hand, ready. He took his seat after she sat and leaned forward, arms on the tabletop. She recognized the posture of willingness but wondered if he was just putting it on. Dr. Stephens knew how intelligent and perceptive this man was when it came to human behaviours.

"All right, Detective, what's going on?"

Bobby sat back, stuffing his hands into his pockets, now assuming a posture of reluctance – a more authentic pose, given his current circumstance. He just wanted to go back to his apartment and open up a fresh bottle. Dr. Stephens waited, staring at him.

Bobby stole glances at the woman sitting across from him. He was so sorry for so many things. "I, uh, I'm sorry for canceling yesterday; and, for causing you to have to come here today."

"Why did you cancel?"

Bobby exhaled in a whoosh, leaned forward and put his face in his hands. Then he pushed up and began to pace. He had no bookshelves to retreat to, no islands of certainty. "I, uh, I knew I was going to get drunk and didn't want to talk with you about it."

"Why did you want to get drunk?"

"Because I don't want to think anymore; I don't want to feel anymore."

"What don't you want to feel?"

"Anything, everything. I want to be empty. Being empty means that I'm not full of loathing, anger, hatred. I, I have never been this miserable."

"What's happened? Why are you so unhappy?" Bobby didn't respond for the longest time. "Detective, how is Gleason?"

Bobby's shoulders slumped and he dropped into the chair, sitting sideways. "It's over. She, she went back to Evanston early. We haven't spoken since Sunday when she left."

This did not surprise Dr. Stephens. "Why did she leave?"

"Uh, the fighting, she said she was tired of the fighting. I cause the fights. I cannot control my temper. I drove her away." Silence filled the room. "I hate myself."

The way he said that last bit told Dr. Stephens that Bobby hated himself for more than driving Gleason away, something else was eating at him. "What have you done?"

Bobby turned and looked at her; his surprise was clear, "What do you mean?"

"Your remorse is out of proportion with Gleason leaving you. She left you before and came back to you; a typical response in your current situation would allow for a glimmer of hopefulness. However, it is clear that you can see no hope. Something else is compounding your emotional state.

"Detective, you've gotten drunk the last four nights. Keep that up and you'll kill yourself or lose your job before you and Gleason have a chance to reconcile. What else has happened? What have you done that is eating you up like this?"

Oh, God. He would not talk about last night. He did not want to believe he had done that. He had accused Gleason of it while knowing she would not, could not, did not. And here, _he_ slept with a chippy and then paid her for it.

I am not like Frank and Dad, he told himself, I'm not; I don't want to be, I'm not – don't let me be like them. Bobby stood up and suddenly realized how small the IR was. He wiped his face with his hands then put both hands up, even with his shoulders, palms out.

"Detective?"

"I, I can't talk about it. I cannot." He ran his left hand down the back of his neck, turned and caught sight of himself in the one-way glass – he looked twenty years older than his age. He was looking at his father's face and it knocked the air out of him. Oh, God, oh, Christ, he thought, I am just like my father – my no good, cheating, lousy father.

Dr. Stephens watched Bobby's anxiety shoot through the roof. "Detective, sit down, please."

"I need to get some air. Let's finish this tomorrow. Ok? I'll come to your office." Bobby moved to the door and Dr. Stephens waited to see if he would really leave; she didn't think he would, he needed to come clean. Whatever he had done was gnawing at him; his guilt was consuming him, and he needed to give it to someone. It was her job to help him carry it.

She was right; Bobby stopped with his hand on the door handle and stood there. Dr. Stephens watched him, suspended between two choices, and then she said, "Come sit down and get rid of what you have done. Let me hold it for you. Tell me what happened."

Bobby gave the doctor those sidelong glances and slowly crossed to the table. He dropped into a chair and put his face into his hands again. Dr. Stephens waited.

When he was able, Bobby said from behind his hands, "I paid a woman for sex last night."

Dr. Stephens was suspecting something like this; however, to be honest, she was slightly surprised.

"A prostitute?"

He didn't answer at first, and then said softly, "No."

"An escort?"

He shook his head.

Dr. Stephens was confused, he did not engage a working girl, yet he paid the woman? "This is a woman you know?"

Bobby leaned back in the chair and asked, "Does it even matter?"

"Yes, Detective, it does. The relationship between you and this woman, and the fact that you say you paid her, combine to illustrate your state of mind, your rationalization for doing what you did. It will help us sort through the 'why' of it."

Bobby would have enjoyed this conversation if it had been about someone else. The psychology of these scenarios fascinated him; however, the fact that they were dissecting the psychology of his actions repulsed him. The silence built as Dr. Stephens watched Bobby process the event and then determine how he was going to begin.

"Detective, who is the woman you slept with?"

His head tilted to the left and he said softly, "A girl from the gym."

"Are you having an affair?"

"No! No, I –," he almost said that he would not do such a thing and then realized that he had done just that. "She's, uh, she's flirted with me before. I was, I was tempted once before, but didn't . . . I, I didn't."

"Why last night?"

Bobby felt like a caged animal. He was going to lose his mind if he had to keep this up. "Look, I can't talk about this. Please, can we be done?"

"No. Why last night?"

"I don't know! Why does it matter? I fucked another woman and then paid her. What's the big deal, huh? I paid her for chrissakes!" He was getting angrier and angrier. He had to get out of that room – it was shrinking around him.

"Detective, sit down. Do you want something?" Dr. Stephens watched him closely. This had gone just as she had expected – his initial reluctance had given over to cooperation because this man is desperate to make things right. He would do what he had to do to fix his life, but it would be a long, difficult process. His intellect and emotional vulnerability would convolute his efforts. He is an over-thinking thinker, the worst kind of patient.

Bobby wanted this to be over. He wanted to go home and drink himself into oblivion. He didn't want to have to think ever again. "Yes, I want something to drink! I want a scotch neat, a double, and then six more after that! Can you make that happen?" Bobby was on his feet and he ran his hands over the top of his head then his fists curled and uncurled at his sides, he paced in a two-step pattern.

"Did you take her to your place?"

"What?" He was lost in his own misery and didn't hear the question.

"Last night, did you take this woman to your apartment? Did you have sex with her in the bed you share with Gleason?"

Bobby was shocked. "What the hell kind of question is that?" He couldn't believe the doctor would even consider him doing such a thing.

"Did you?"

"NO! For chrissakes! What do you think . . .?" he couldn't continue.

"Then where did you have sex? Her place?"

"No!"

"A hotel?"

"Jesus Christ, Dr. Stephens!"

"Then where?"

"In my fucking car! In the parking lot! In the backseat of my car! Ok? She sucked me and then I fucked her! Is that what you wanted to know?" It was a good thing the interrogation rooms were soundproof.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason cancelled her afternoon office hours and went back to her apartment. She put the pork chops to marinate, set the table and looked around. Her place was small and easy to keep neat. It took but a minute to drag a cloth over the flat surfaces and push the dust mop over the floor. She wiped off the counter top and checked the fridge. Everything was ready.

She went to the bathroom and then made sure it was tidy; then she walked into the bedroom to decide what she would wear this evening and stopped at the bed. She knew what would probably happen in here tonight. A part of her wanted it. It was over with Bobby, she could no longer love him. Malcolm wanted her and she wanted him. It was exciting being around a man who found her exciting. She liked the way he played with her, flirted with her. Bobby was so serious, dark.

Gleason began pulling the sheets from the bed and then went for the other set.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	32. Chapter 32

151

Designed Intent

Chapter 32

Thursday Afternoon

Neither Bobby nor Dr. Stephens said anything after his outburst. Bobby was humiliated and ashamed of himself. Dr. Stephens made notes in her notebook, not looking at him while he calmed down. Bobby found himself standing in the corner, arms crossed over his chest. He leaned into the corner, gently knocking his forehead against the wall. Dr. Stephens waited.

After nearly five silent minutes, Bobby turned, wiped both hands over his face and returned to his chair. Dr. Stephens set down her pen and looked at him. He didn't make eye contact. "You say you paid this woman. Why did you pay her?"

He said nothing at first, then he slid back in the chair, slouching with his arms on the table and he said softly, "Because it doesn't count if you pay for it."

Dr. Stephens looked at him, not sure she was following him, "What do you mean?"

"If you pay for sex, it doesn't mean anything; it's just sex."

Dr. Stephens still wasn't sure what he meant. Actually, he sounded like a kid, explaining something to an adult. "Detective, explain this to me." She sat forward, genuinely interested and somewhat bemused.

"It's what I said, if you pay someone for sex, it doesn't mean anything. I paid her, so I didn't really cheat on Gleason."

The psychiatrist was astounded, "Do you believe this?"

Bobby stood again, and spoke barely above a whisper, "My father told us that, Frank and me. He said that sometimes a woman couldn't, or wouldn't, give a man all that he wanted or needed, so a man had to do right by himself and pay for what he wants or needs. He was talking about our mother; after she got sick, almost every night Dad would come home smelling of booze and other women. I don't know what it did to my mother; I don't even know if she knew, she was so out of it so much of the time."

This new bit of insight into Bobby's family was fascinating. "We've talked about your father before. Do you think your father loved your mother, you and your brother?" This was a detour Dr. Stephens wasn't sure she wanted to take. However, she could see where any talk of his father, any analysis of his father's actions, might lead Bobby to consider a possible root for his own actions. She wanted to talk more about his brother as well.

"I don't want to talk about him. He was a lousy husband and shitty father."

"So you've said; but do you think he loved his family?"

"Why are we talking about him? I thought we were here to discuss my drinking, carousing and temper."

"Did your father love you?"

Bobby was on his feet, "Yes! Before she got really bad, we were like a normal family. He came home every night; we did things. I was little, but I remember it; it was good. Then, then when Mom starting manifesting, everyone was afraid, quiet, no one knew what to do or think; so the four of us each went to our separate corners and hid."

"So, everything was fine until your mother's illness set in? Why did your parents divorce?"

"Are you kidding me? Doctor, this is wasting your time and mine." He was ready to leave.

"Tell me, why did they ultimately divorce?"

"Jesus Christ! My mother was schizophrenic not taking her meds, she was out of her mind, my father was overwhelmed and frustrated, powerless, my brother was a hoodlum – wouldn't you walk away from that?" He was shouting. "Why are we even talking about this?"

"After your mother began to have hallucinations and the family began to disintegrate, do you think your father wanted things to be the way they were before?"

He spun and looked at her and didn't respond right away. He saw where she was going. He wiped his hands over his face and then crossed his arms. The room boomed with silence. Finally, softly, he said, "My sleeping with that woman is my reaction to my fear that Gleason and I will never have what we had before. Just like my father slept around on my mother because he knew nothing would ever be like it was before."

Dr. Stephens watched him process the truth as it unfolded before him.

"I am just like my father. Dear God, I am like my father."

"This realization may help you change. Your awareness will help you rethink your choices. This is a big step, Detective."

Bobby had stopped listening to her. He felt sick to his stomach. "Look, I, I hate myself for so many reasons right now. It didn't mean anything. I'm in love with Gleason and I've ruined it between us. When I fucked that woman last night, when I, when. . ." He shuddered a huge sigh and put up his hands again, shaking his head.

Dr. Stephens waited, watching him struggle.

Bobby turned and said, "I can't do this anymore. Please, we have to stop." He looked at his shrink with pain that worsened his exhausted, hung-over face.

Dr. Stephens knew they would go no further if he didn't take a break. "Ok, let's take a breather. Go get some coffee, use the restroom, whatever; I'm going to speak with your Captain. Let's meet back here in fifteen minutes, ok?"

Bobby nodded and stood, opening the door for Dr. Stephens and following her through. They walked to the bullpen in silence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason finished changing the sheets on the bed and headed back to campus for her last Tuesday/Thursday class of the day. She couldn't find a parking spot in the close lot and so had to park at the far end of the general lot. It was further away, she was running late and still had to stop by her office to pick up the graded assignment she wanted to return. Gleason was afraid to hurry as she didn't trust her heart. She walked as fast as she dare and got to her office ten minutes before her class started.

"Dr. Wintermantle, Dr. Conway was here to see you. He left something on your desk," Imogene, the student assistant said with a knowing smile. Gleason nodded and kept moving. Once in her office, she dropped her bag on the chair beside the door and went around to her desk. A plain white envelope with an uppercase "G" on the front sat on top.

She was in a rush to class, but she sat and opened the envelope, slid out the sheet and read, "Dear Heart. . ."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deakins saw Dr. Stephens come around the corner with Bobby and watched them separate, Bobby heading toward the restrooms and Dr. Stephens toward his office. "Dr. Stephens, how is it going?" They entered his office and Deakins closed the door, showing the psychiatrist to a chair, taking the one beside hers.

"Detective Goren is in a lot of pain."

"Anything you can tell me?"

"Not really, but perhaps you can fill in some gaps for me." Deakins nodded and the doctor continued. "How has his work been? I know you said his partner said he's 'holding his own' but really, how has his work been?"

"Aside from being late these past four mornings, he's been the same. He's had no trouble with temper on the job anymore, as far as I know. He seems preoccupied, and he's quiet, well, more so than usual; other than that, nothing."

"That helps. I should be getting back; I told him we'd reconvene in fifteen minutes." The pair stood and Dr. Stephens turned, but stopped and said, "Oh, one more thing – he's going to probably need to leave when we are done. We're getting into some very serious issues and it will take a toll. It's not a problem if he heads out afterward, is it?"

"Of course not. I want him well; for lots of reasons." Deakins hesitated and Dr. Stephens knew there was something else. "Tell me, will he ever be back to where he was?"

The psychiatrist had to answer honestly, "I'm not sure, Captain. Detective Goren is an extremely complicated individual. His high intellect and emotional vulnerability make the world cumbersome for him. He feels things much more deeply than the rest of us. He sees things, possibilities, that don't occur to us. It is not easy being Robert Goren."

This was no news to Deakins. "Thank you, Doctor. Let me know what I can do."

Bobby was returning from the restroom as Dr. Stephens left Deakins' office.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason read the note and sat for a minute, not knowing what to think. Malcolm's note had said more than she wanted to know right now. Oh, my. She gathered the stack of papers to return and set off for her class. She walked slowly, deep in thought, not caring that she was going to be late.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eames had gone to the pawnshop to retrieve the security tape and talk with the owner/manager, "Thanks for the tape. We'll be in touch depending on what it shows. We may need you to meet with a sketch artist." Eames took the tape and headed back to her vehicle.

She saw that Bobby wasn't at his desk when she returned. She was getting tired of his drama, much like Deakins was. She took the tape and went into the tech room; she hated this part of the job, she didn't like to watch. Bobby loved it and she wished he were here now to do it. However, she wanted to get a face if she could, so she slid in the tape and fast-forwarded it to the last three hours.

"Get anything?" Deakins asked coming up behind her.

"Nothing yet, this shouldn't take too long, though, the owner pulled the tape right away." They stood and watched in silence and then Eames asked softly, "Anything new with Bobby?"

"Dr. Stephens can't share anything. I guess he's a mess. They're in for round two. He's heading home when they are done."

Eames was steamed and figured what the hell, "You know, Captain, I hope he gets his shit together soon. I'm sorry he's unhappy and all, but we all have our disappointments in life. I'm going to be honest with you; I'm getting tired of carrying him. Every time he and Gleason have a fight, he dissolves like a sugar cube. Since when do we make provisions like this, bringing his shrink into the office for an on-the-clock session?" She stopped because anything else she would say was only going to get worse.

Her ire surprised Deakins. He understood completely how Bobby's sensitivities were difficult to live with at times. He was fully aware that Eames did a disproportionate amount of the work when Bobby got bad. Nevertheless, Deakins had thought that Eames was reconciled to her partner's idiosyncrasies. "Alex, I'm sorry these cases have fallen to you. As to the provision for his session with Dr. Stephens today, this happens more often than people realize. Certain circumstances warrant certain levels of assistance. A lot goes on behind the scenes."

Eames knew this to be true. She was just frustrated by Bobby's weaknesses. She wanted him to be well. She missed him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you ok?" Dr. Stephens asked.

"I want to be finished here. What else do you want to talk about?" Bobby was resigned to his misery.

"You can leave and go home, when we are done here. What will you do?"

Bobby knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to get drunk again. He wanted to drink through the weekend and then call off all of next week. He wanted to fly to Chicago and beg Gleason to take him back. He wanted it like it was before. But he said none of this.

"I don't know."

"Will you get drunk?"

"Probably."

"Besides that, what would you do? What would be Plan B?"

Bobby knew exactly what that would be but he would never say it out loud.


	33. Chapter 33

155

Designed Intent

Chapter 33

Thursday Night

Malcolm helped clear the table and then took her in his arms, "Did you read my note this afternoon?" he asked softly.

Gleason did not pull away when he stepped into her; it felt good, him holding her like this. He wasn't as tall or broad as Bobby was and he didn't seem as strong, but it felt good. She nodded, not wanting to say it aloud.

"Well?"

Gleason looked up at him and didn't know how to respond. She stared into his eyes, wondering, wanting, but so unsure. She put her hands on his chest, gently pushed him away, then took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby lay across his bed; hands limp on his chest, left foot on the floor, staring at the ceiling. He went straight home after he and Dr. Stephens finished this afternoon. He did not stop at the package store; he wanted to see if he could do that, come straight home. He knew he could still go out again, but didn't think he would.

This afternoon had been grueling and Dr. Stephens wanted to see him first thing tomorrow morning at her office; but he wasn't sure he could do it, what else was left to rip open? She said they would talk about what they had talked about today. Where's the sense in that, he wondered.

Nevertheless, he knew he would go. He would talk, and listen, because he wanted to be well – he wanted things to be like they were before.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malcolm's kiss was so different from Bobby's kiss. Stop comparing them she scolded herself. Malcolm's hand stayed on her back, it didn't take her neck and throat as Bobby's hand had. Malcolm's tongue was thinner, faster than Bobby's tongue. Stop it, she screamed in her mind. Malcolm's erection was sharper, harder through his trousers than Bobby's was.

"Wait, wait," Gleason gasped, pulling away. "Stop, Malcolm."

He pulled away, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing is wrong. I just, just –," she didn't get a chance to finish as Malcolm's phone rang in his pocket. Their eyes locked. The phone rang again. And again. "You should answer it."

He continued to stare at her. "No," and he kissed her again. Two more rings and the phone stopped. Gleason leaned into him and his hand came around her back to her breast. His lips moved to her neck and he sucked the same spot Bobby always took. She felt herself moisten.

Malcolm sucked hard at that spot and then said, "I want you, Gleason. Let me make love to you. Please." His lips barely left her flesh. His hand moved to her bottom and he pulled her toward his crotch, rubbing himself against her.

Gleason's hand moved to his belt and unbuckled it, moving toward the button. He stepped away, his hands going for the bottom edge of her shirt, he pulled it over her head and was surprised to see her undershirt. His mouth dipped to her breast and he nibbled her nipple through the fabric. Gleason's hand took his penis through his trousers and Malcolm jolted in the same way Bobby did.

Malcolm backed her to the bed and they laid down, he up on his left elbow the way Bobby did, bending to kiss her. His phone rang again and he pulled away. "Fu–!" he almost said it.

"Malcolm, see who it is. It must be important."

Reluctantly, he sat up and pulled his phone from his pocket. He flipped it open, glanced at the screen and then stood, "What's up?" he said, walking into the other room. Gleason sat up and watched him, listening. "Is he ok? . . . What happened? . . . How did he –? . . . I can hear him. . . . Ok, ok I'll meet you there. Don't speed, ok? Drive carefully. I'll meet you there. . . . Maevie, he'll be ok. I'm on my way."

Gleason had pulled on her top and was standing in the doorway by the time Malcolm had flipped shut his phone and turned around. "Is he ok?" she asked.

"It's Angus, my son, he's fallen down the steps and cracked open his head. Maeve is taking him to hospital. He's bleeding a lot and she's terrified. I, I need to be with my son." He took a step toward her, all sign of his erection gone.

"Go; buckle your pants," she said as she retrieved his jacket and held it for him to slip into.

"I'm sorry, Gleason, I wanted –,"

"Malcolm, go. They're waiting for you. Go."

He kissed her lightly and then left.

Dear God, she thought, what did I almost do?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby finally sat up and looked at the clock. He must have fallen asleep; it was after nine. He sat on the edge of the bed and then shuffled to the bathroom. He finished, flushed and returned to the bedroom to change.

The room was a wreck with dirty clothes strewn everywhere. While Bobby never really made the bed, he did straighten it every morning. Not this week, however, the sheet and coverlet made a tangled knot. Gleason's pillow lay in the middle of the bed, his sat half stuffed between the headboard and mattress. He kicked off his shoes; tossed his trousers on the pile that was falling off the corner chair, dropped his dress shirt in the corner where it looked like two others sat and then pulled on a pair of cotton plaid sleep pants. He headed down the hall toward the kitchen.

The mess of the kitchen came to life when he flipped on the light. Jesus, he thought. Dirty dishes sat in the sink, empty whisky and scotch bottles, some on their sides, glasses, food cartons, a bag of chips, covered the counters and table. All of it – the entire mess – resembled his father's kitchen when Bobby had gone there after getting word of his dad's death. The sight disgusted him, so he turned and shut off the light.

Bobby sat in his chair in the dark. He tilted back, thinking. He missed her so much. He knew that if she loved him again, everything would be all right. She kept him normal, she was his anchor, and he loved her and wanted her back. Bobby reached for the phone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason stood at the sink, rinsing the last of the dishes and heard her phone ringing inside her bag. She turned off the water, wiped her hands and dashed to answer it. She glanced at the screen and stopped, unsure whether to answer or not. She flipped open the phone and said nothing.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

Neither said anything. What could he say? What could she say?

"How do you feel?"

"I'm ok."

"Anymore problems breathing or with that pain in your chest?"

"No, it's fine."

Silence . . . "I, I miss you." . . . Silence . . . "Do, do you love me?" . . . Silence . . . "Just tell me, yes or no, do you love me?" . . . Silence . . . He sat hundreds of miles away, in the dark, and wiped his eyes with the fingers of his right hand. "Glea –," he whispered.

"Yes, yes," she whispered back.

He heard her crying and he hitched a breath. They listened to each other breathe, and cry. "Gleason . . .," he didn't know what to say. Finally, he said, "Tell me what I need to do."

She didn't understand what he meant and so she said nothing. Silence.

"Tell me how to fix this. Tell me what to do."

Silence . . . "I, I don't know." . . . Silence.

"Gleason . . .," he had to put down the phone and dropped his head into his elbow and breathed deeply, not crying, but struggling to hang on.

"Bobby?" she whispered, hearing him breathing. Her heart broke for him. She loved him desperately, but she couldn't, she just couldn't do it any more. She was so tired of being tired, tired of waiting for the explosion, tired of the emotional swings. She was not strong enough to continue loving him. "Bobby?" she said softly. Oh, God she loved him. "Dearheart?"

He sighed deeply and returned the phone to his ear, "Honey?"

"Oh, Bobby." Their pain traveled the airwaves and filled each other.

"Go with me to talk with Dr. Stephens. Please."

She did not want to do this and was sorry she had said she would. Silence.

"Glea–? You said you would."

"I know, I know."

"Will you go with me?" . . . Silence . . . "Help me get better. Please."

She did not want to talk with a stranger about them, about herself. I don't want to do this, she told herself, don't do this. "When?"

He wiped his face with his hand, cleared his throat and said, "Dr. Stephens can see us at two on the Saturday after this, when you come home. And, and I, I got you an appointment with Dr. Creighton on that Friday at eleven, for your heart, she can't see you on Saturday. Can you come home Thursday night?"

She would have to cancel her Friday morning class. She didn't want to do that, but she was mildly concerned about these spells she'd been having. And her fatigue, dear God; she wondered if they were connected. "Yes, I can do that."

They listened to each other breathe. "Thank you, Sweetheart, thank you." She said nothing. "I love you, Gleason, I love you."

She heard his resignation and her heart swelled. "I love you, too, Bobby, forever," she whispered and she meant it.

"Talk to me. I want to hear your voice. Talk to me."

They talked of little things, silences punctuating their conversation. However, they did _not_ talk about his four nights of serious drinking, his marathon therapy session with Dr. Stephens this afternoon, nor his session with her again tomorrow morning. And, they certainly did not talk about his blowjob and screw in the backseat of his car with the sweet young thing from the gym the night before.

Gleason did not mention the fact that she had prepared dinner for Malcolm tonight, she did not tell Bobby about the note Malcolm had left her, nor what it said. They didn't talk about how she and Malcolm had been on her bed, he erect and she wet and how they would have made love if his wife hadn't called with an emergency with their son.

They talked but said little.

Eventually, they said good night with a promise to talk again in the morning.

A man in New York and a woman in Evanston each prepared for bed and fell asleep; they dreamed of each other and a little boy with dark red curls.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	34. Chapter 34

161

Designed Intent

Chapter 34

Early Friday Morning

Gleason had set the alarm an hour ahead of her usual wakening as she had promised to call Bobby when she woke up.

Bobby answered on the second ring with, "Honey?"

"Good morning, Love."

"Mmmmm, it is so good to hear you, Sweetheart. How did you sleep?" Bobby had slept like a baby. He had had an erection during the night and could still feel the cold stickiness on the sheet beside his left hip. He stretched luxuriously, remembering.

"I slept well. Did you?"

"I dreamt of you, and it was a good dream, too. I made a wet spot."

"Did you, now?" she said with a smile and then whispered, "Do you want to make another?"

"Oh, yeah. Jesus I miss you. Talk to me, Sweetheart. Talk dirty."

Gleason and he spoke softly of what they would do to each other when she came home the following Thursday night. Bobby pulled and stroked himself, listening to her describe what she would do, how she would feel; he came quickly, jerking onto the top sheet that covered him, grunting as he did so. Gleason came quietly, barely making a sound. She wanted him in her; she missed his size, the way he filled her, the feel of him jerking up high inside, shooting his cum, and then softening before he pulled out.

They spoke of their love for each other, feeling happiness in each other for the first time in a week. Their indiscretions faded away, further and fainter than an old memory, it was as though those things had never happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, you certainly look rested, Detective," Dr. Stephens said. Bobby smiled, looked down and she thought she saw him redden. "How was your night?"

"Good. Very good."

"How so?"

Bobby settled in, ready to talk. "I went straight home, didn't stop at the package store. I thought a lot about all that you and I talked about yesterday. I fell asleep, woke up and called Gleason."

This surprised the psychiatrist, "How did that go?"

"It was intense, but good. We talked. She's, uh, she's agreed to come home Thursday night. I'm glad I made that appointment with her heart doctor on Friday. And, she said she'll meet with you on Saturday."

"Wonderful. This is very good news. So, how do you feel about everything?"

He sidestepped the question with, "She's uneasy about talking with you, Dr. Stephens. Gleason is a very private person and she's been up front about her reluctance in doing this on Saturday. We, uh, we need to be gentle with her."

His use of the plural when talking about their coming couple's session charmed the doctor. She would work hard not to upset this man's lover. "We will do our best, won't we?"

"We, uh, we talked this morning, too," he said softly. He couldn't look at her.

"You did? My, my. So, things are better?"

Bobby leaned forward, elbows on knees, "Yes, this is the thing – we can be so absolutely miserable, yelling at each other, vicious and then, then a few hours or days later, it's as though nothing ever happened. Why is that?" He looked at her expectantly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I think we caught a face from the pawn shop video," Eames told Deakins, "Melvin Turnbuckle, he has a host of priors including assorted thefts, assault, fraud, and more and was released from Rikers three weeks ago. Last known is a flop house."

"Good, good. Take Sledge and check him out," Deakins told her.

"Uh, Captain, it would be better if someone else were to go along."

Deakins looked up, hesitated, and then didn't want to know, "Find someone, then. Bring this guy in. See if he's good for a line-up."

Eames nodded and left. She stopped by Perkins's desk, "Bill, are you free to go pick up a suspect with me?"

"Sorry, I've got this report due in an hour for Carver. Sullivan is tied up, too. Sorry."

Eames nodded and went to Bishop, "Lynn, can you go pick up a suspect with me?"

"Alex, I'm on my way to the dentist, I broke a crown this morning. Sorry."

Eames nodded and crossed to Wheeler, "Megan, I need someone to go pick up a suspect with me, you free?"

"Forget it, Freckles and I are heading out to get our own bad guy. Where's Bright Boy?" Logan said, coming up behind Eames.

Eames ignored the question with, "Thanks anyway."

Shit, she thought, that leaves Edward. Things had really cooled off lately between them. It had been several weeks since Sledge announced that they would never live together and everything had changed. He rarely stayed at her place and they had made love once in the following weeks. She missed him and worried what was ahead. She reluctantly walked his way.

Edward saw her coming, stood and reached for his jacket. "Don't tell me you are heading out," she said.

"Yeah, seems I'm your last resort, huh? Get your coat."

Eames shook her head and went to get her coat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Deakins saw Bobby return from Dr. Stephens and wandered over after the detective took his seat.

"So, everything ok?" he asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Bobby replied, picking up the two message slips sitting on his desk.

Deakins noticed that Bobby seemed calmer, he didn't seem hung over, and he looked better, as if he had gotten some sleep. "How was last night?"

"I went straight home, didn't drink, took a nap, called Gleason and then went to bed. I slept well and then went to my appointment this morning. What else do you want to know?"

Deakins didn't miss the edge to Bobby's tone, "Nothing, nothing, just checking. You know this is all for your good, Bobby."

Bobby stood up with his cup and said, "Yeah, I know. Thanks. Where's Eames?"

"She and Sledge went to pick up the guy who was asking about the necklace at the pawn shop."

Bobby had no idea what Deakins was talking about so he nodded and headed for the coffee room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Noon

"Gleason! Wait," Malcolm called trotting after her as she walked from her class toward Margrave. She turned at her name and waited.

"How is Angus? Is he all right?" Gleason asked as he approached.

Malcolm caught his breath and set a hand on her back, turning her so they could walk together. "Malcolm, don't, please," she said softly, stepping away from him.

He nodded and dropped his hand, thinking her concern was for the fraternization policy; it was not. His hand did not feel the same on her back today as it had; or, maybe she felt differently. "He's ok. Six stitches and a shiner, but he'll be all right."

"How did it happen?"

"Apparently, he was carrying all of his stuffed animals down the stairs from his room to the parlor at one time and he stepped on Cholo's ear, and tripped. He tumbled down quite a ways. Maeve was just coming in from the porch and saw him fall."

"Who is 'Cholo'?"

Malcolm smiled at this, "Angus's stuffed rabbit; it was a gift from Maeve's mother when Gus was born. Gus drags it about by its long ears, he is rarely without it."

"How is your wife?" She used the term purposefully.

Malcolm glanced at Gleason and said, "She's much better today, knowing that Gus will heal."

They continued in silence. He wanted to get somewhere where they could be alone to talk and perhaps finish what had started last evening.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sledge insisted on driving so Eames insisted on navigating. "We should talk," Edward said softly.

"About what?" she responded, knowing exactly what he meant. "Turn left at the next corner."

"Alex, you said you understood about us keeping two places. Why does it seem that now you don't?"

"Edward, I said I understood and I do. Things are the way they are."

"Come on, don't shit me; every time I want to come over, you're busy, you're tired, you're something. Hon, I don't want us to change."

Eames turned in her seat to look at him better, "Edward, not moving in together was your choice. What we have is us not living together. This is what you wanted, your decision."

Sledge went quiet. He needed to get her into bed and talk. "I want to come over tonight. Let's get a nice dinner somewhere, and then we'll go back to your place and talk. Ok?" He stole a glance at her.

She considered this; it would be nice to go out again. Besides, she knew where the evening would end. She didn't mind that either, she missed him between her sheets, between her legs. "You just want to get me into bed, don't you?"

"Absolutely," he stole another glance and saw her smile. Edward reached over and put a hand on her knee, sliding it up her thigh.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How about if we go to your place? Hmmmm?" Malcolm had walked with Gleason to her office, stepped in behind her, closed her door and took her in his arms.

"Malcolm, no," she pushed him away and turned.

"What? What's wrong? Are you upset about me leaving last night?" he sounded incredulous.

"For God's sake no! Malcolm, I, I can't do what you want. Last night was a mistake. It should have never happened. I'm sorry your son got hurt, but I thank God something called you away. I cannot be with you."

He could not believe this was happening. "You mean you feel nothing for me?"

She turned toward the window, not able to look at him. He continued, "I know you do, I can tell. I saw it last night, the way you responded to me. We would have made love; you know that you wanted to. Didn't you? Didn't you?"

Gleason began to shiver. How could she have let this happen? "Malcolm, please go."

"It's that fucking cop isn't it? Gleason, he doesn't love you." Malcolm took a step closer to her, reaching for her, "He can't love you so far away. I'm here, I'll look after you, love you, make love to you," this last bit was whispered. He took her in his arms and said so softly, "Let me make love to you; let me make you cry out. Please, Gleason, make love to me." His mouth moved to her neck and damn, if she didn't moisten.

"No! Stop, no! Get out! Now!" she pushed against him hard and he backed away; his erection was obvious and he was breathing heavily. "Malcolm go. Leave me alone."

He stared at her, not believing what had just happened. He waited a minute more for his erection to ease and then he turned and left. The door slammed a bit too loudly behind him.

Gleason dropped into her desk chair and shook. Bobby, I need to talk with Bobby. She fished her phone from her bag and hit 'speed dial one.'


	35. Chapter 35

165

Designed Intent

Chapter 35

The Weekend

Bobby's first call woke Gleason from a nap on Saturday afternoon. He woke her twice on Sunday; she is sleeping a lot, he thought.

After he woke her Saturday, Gleason gathered her dirty clothes and carried the basket to the car, intending to go to the Laundromat. She was so winded by the time she got to her car that she had to lean on the vehicle, gasping, forearm against her chest. Gladys, the estate manager happened to be walking from the stable to the main house and saw Gleason bent against the car.

"Dr. Wintermantle, are you ok?" she asked as she rushed to Gleason's side. Gladys put an arm around Gleason, opened the driver's side door and maneuvered her onto the seat as Gleason continued to gasp. "I'm calling for help. Stay here."

"No! No!" Gleason breathed, "Please, don't. It will . . . it will stop. Please." Gladys squatted down in front of Gleason and Gleason thought the woman looked remarkably like Bobby in this posture.

The manager set a hand on Gleason's thigh and stroked up and down, squeezing just a bit, sliding a bit too high. Then she said, "Let me help you back to your apartment."

Gleason shook her head and moved her leg, trying to extricate it from the other woman's grip, "No, no. I'm fine, really. Thank you." Gleason stood up and the hand on her leg lifted as Gladys stood as well. "Thank you, Gladys, I'm fine now. Thank you."

"Doc, you should really go back inside and lie down. Come on, let me get you situated." Gladys put an arm around Gleason's shoulder and stood a bit too close, leaning in a bit too much.

"No! I'm fine, please," and Gleason shrugged her off and continued, "Please, I'm all right. I need to run my errands. Thank you." And with that, Gleason got into her car and left.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby went to work and then to the range Saturday. Afterward, he found a new gym, but did not like it as well as the other. This one will keep you out of trouble, he told himself setting his gym bag on the back seat. Bobby spotted the condom wrapper sitting in the crack between the seat and the seat back. He grabbed it and stuffed it into his pocket with thanks that he had found it and not Gleason.

From the gym, he went to the grocery and bought real food: apples, orange juice, grapes, and two bags of salad, little tomatoes, green peppers, onions, mushrooms and celery. He purchased ground sirloin, a few nice little steaks plus a dozen peanut butter cookies; and milk, for the cookies.

Estella cleaned the apartment while Bobby was at work on Saturday. "Desus Krite!" she exclaimed aloud when she entered, she had never seen his place look such a mess. "What deh hell he do? Hab a party? A drunk ass party? Desus Krite!"

She tsk-tsked as she set the empty scotch, whisky and beer bottles into the recycling bin. The kitchen was disgusting. "He gonna pay me extra for dis mess, damn him ennyway," she grumbled.

The bedroom was another disaster waiting for her. She found the two still-sticky stains on the sheets when she stripped the bed. "Desus Krite!" she said again with disgust.

However, it was the prize amid the dirty clothes that shocked her. Estella sorted his laundry into the four usual piles – whites, darks, dress shirts and things to go to the dry cleaner. She pulled a pair of suit trousers from the mountain on the chair, went through his pockets as she always did and removed a crumpled and stiff handkerchief from the front pocket. Estella was about to toss it onto the whites pile when she caught sight of something peeking out from under a fold. Using her index fingers and thumbs as pincers, she pulled apart the handkerchief and found the used condom. "Desus Krite!" she said again, but this time she said it sadly. "Oh my Dodd, what he do? What he do?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malcolm spent the weekend with his wife and son. Maeve thought he seemed preoccupied but Malcolm was kind and sweet with their son. Angus was talking more and more. Maeve was happy, Angus was happy, and Malcolm was frustrated as hell.

They tried to make love early Saturday morning, but Malcolm was unable to finish. It had never happened before and he was embarrassed and angry. Maeve told him not to worry; she was loving and understanding, Malcolm was not.

Malcolm knew what had happened. He was making love to his wife, enjoying her body, loving what she was doing to his, when Gleason popped into his mind. He saw her, saw them, coupling on Gleason's bed. Oh God, it would have been so good! Then he heard Maeve moan and he ripped back to his own bed with his wife. And it was over, his penis folded like a daisy in a steam room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Melvin Turnbuckle appeared in a lineup but Marzullo, the pawnshop owner, couldn't identify him and the thief strutted out of One Police Plaza with cocky attitude. It was a huge setback for Bobby and Eames.

Turnbuckle had made up his mind – he, Brine and Nye Teen were going to do it. Just going to do it. He had the necklace and wanted that church stuff. Brine was just the man to show him the good stuff. Yes sir, he was going to call his boys and get it lined up.

Turnbuckle was an interesting and rare breed of thief. He stole from other thieves, a 'two-taker.'

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sledge stayed at Eames' place through the weekend. They went to dinner and then to bed Friday evening, neither getting much sleep; it wasn't all sex, though, they did talk.

Edward explained about Linda, his ex-wife, and that they still loved each other. He explained that he needed to keep the important parts of his life separate. Alex and Linda were the two most important parts of his life and so he had to keep them separate. The only way to do so was to keep the three of them living separate lives.

Alex wanted to understand. It saddened her to think that the real reason she wanted more from Edward was that she feared growing old and alone. Alex wanted to believe that she was tough and strong and could go it alone; she had done well enough after Joe, her husband, had died. But it had been nearly nine years since he was killed and she was beginning to see and feel her years; she did not want to be alone anymore. Marriage wasn't what she was looking for; she just didn't want to be alone for the rest of her years.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mrs. Goren woke slowly Saturday afternoon. Her induced sedation would keep her and the voices in her head quiet. She ate little and said nothing. Christian was happy his Gramma was awake; he wanted to talk with her about his daddy and his mommy, they did bad things.

"Gramma, Gramma," he said to her, leaning on and tapping the edge of her bed while she ate that clear green jiggly stuff, "Gramma?"

Frances neither saw nor heard him – her mind was pretty much empty and would be for several more days. When Christian realized his gramma couldn't hear him, couldn't see him, he went behind the drapes and sat. He felt sad, frightened, worried; he felt like he was fading.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby drove from work to Carmel Ridge Sunday evening. His mother was sitting in her chair, but did not notice him. "Hi, Mom," he said, pulling the wooden armchair over to face her. He sat and stared at her. She looked so pale, so old.

He saw his brother in her. Frank took after their mother – sharp features, small frame, short. Bobby took after their father – round features, big build, tall. Both brothers were exceedingly intelligent, as were both of their parents. Despite his petty criminal nature, Frank had stayed in school, mostly due to a plea bargain and parole agreement when he was fourteen; their father made sure Frank's ass was out of bed and inside the school doors every morning. He had won a full scholarship to university and studied science. Frank had decided on chemistry, "I want to be a drug-maker," he explained to his folks; Bobby knew Frank did not have pharmaceuticals in mind.

He thought of the little boy his mother said she saw and spoke with. He caught himself actually glancing around the room, expecting to see no one, but still glancing.

Christian sat behind the drape, peeking out at his daddy. He wanted to go and sit by his daddy, but he didn't, he was too sad and faded to move. He didn't want to fade away; his time here wasn't done yet. His gramma needed him, his daddy and his mommy needed him. Christian wasn't sure why he was fading, but he was. Angels aren't supposed to cry, but this little one did.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	36. Chapter 36

170

Designed Intent

Chapter 36

The Next Week

Monday

Bobby was at work early and he felt terrific. He and Gleason had spoken very early that morning. Afterward, she said she was going back to sleep as she was particularly tired and her class wasn't until that evening. Bobby loved talking with her in the morning. They had spoken often over the weekend.

"Well, this is a change," Eames said walking toward the desks, shrugging out of her coat.

"Yeah, well, a lot to do, a lot to do," he replied, continuing to write.

Deakins came around the corner from the elevators and was delighted to see his two best detectives already at work. Let this week be a good one, he prayed. "Good to see you both here already," he mentioned, walking by.

The detectives spent the rest of the day investigating the counterfeit books, making interview appointments with the purchasers, researching where one would find a period printing press or find the parts to build one, and they spoke again with Dr. Pennelli. Bit by bit, pieces of the counterfeit book scheme were coming together.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mrs. Goren asked for a cup of coffee and the nurse was delighted, "Well, welcome back Dear. How are you? We've missed you these few days."

"Have you seen my grandson?" Frances asked.

"You mean your son, that tall young man? Not today, he stopped by last evening, however."

Frances shook her head and said, "No! My grandson, GRANDson you idiot!" Folks tended to be a bit short tempered as the effects of the drug continued to wear off.

"Well, I guess not. Let me get your coffee. Are you hungry?"

"Find me my grandson."

Christian stood at the sound of his gramma's voice and peeked from behind the drape. She woke up, he said to himself, she woke up! Slowly the little boy walked to his gramma's side. "Gramma?" he whispered, fingertips on the arm of her chair.

Frances thought she heard him, but wasn't sure, "Christian? Where are you, Sweet Pea? Come see your gramma."

Christian moved and stood right in front of her, smiled and said, "Here I am Gramma."

Frances tilted her head to the left and listened. "Christian, is that you? Where are you?"

The boy with the dark red curls knew then that he was fading, his gramma could no longer see him, and she could barely hear him. Soon, he would be no more, a lost and forgotten memory, a promise of what might have been.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday

"Hi," he said when she picked up the phone.

"Malcolm, what do you want?" she asked, not hiding her distain.

"I want to talk with you about submitting a proposal to speak at the International Ancient Studies Conference next year. It's in Toronto."

A conference, eh? Gleason was intrigued. "When is it?"

"Next November. The timing is perfect, our article will just be out and this conference will fulfill the expectations for the next academic year. You'll be two for two – an article for this year, an international conference presentation for next year; and, your book launches the year after, God woman, you'll have hit the academic expectations trifecta!" He waited for her to consider and then continued, "What do you say?"

A conference in Toronto – she and Bobby could go together, a little holiday away. "When is the proposal due?"

"Three weeks hence. Let's have lunch and talk about it."

"I can't meet today, too much to do; how about tomorrow at ten? Can you reserve the room in the library again? I'll call Willow and see if that's good for her, I think she has office hours at that time." Gleason smiled as she said this.

"Wait, wait, why are you calling Willow?"

Gleason knew all along what this old dog was up to. With utmost sugared sincerity Gleason answered, "Well, Malcolm, Willow co-authored the article, she needs to be part of the presentation, too. Don't you agree?"

Malcolm rubbed his hand over his forehead and scowled. No, he did not agree, but was loath to admit it. After nearly a too long silence, he said, "Of course that would be the professional thing to do; invite our third author. Of course."

Gleason could hear his edgy disappointment, so she decided to rub it in. "If we are accepted, it will be so nice for Willow to get out. She must be so lonely. And, Malcolm, you can bring your wife and son; and Bobby can come with me. Oh, this is going to be wonderful! Thank you Malcolm, what a brilliant idea; you are a terrific mentor. Thanks. I will call you if Willow cannot make the meeting. See you tomorrow. Tah!" And she hung up.

Malcolm hung up the phone and thought, why can't things go my way, one time, just one time. His long-range plan for a few days alone with Gleason in Toronto had escalated into a multi-family excursion. Damn!

Gleason was delighted with how that went.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday

"Ok, so the counterfeiter has been carrying on his _father's_ work?" Deakins asked.

Bobby nodded enthusiastically, "It seems so. James Doogan is a second-generation counterfeiter. He learned at the knee of the master, his father, Donald Peckham."

"Doogan is Peckham's son?"

Bobby nodded.

"Two different last names? Why?"

Eames answered with, "James Doogan changed his last name when his father went to prison. Peckham died in prison after serving twenty-four years. James visited his father regularly and continued to learn the craft."

"Where did the son get another printing press?" Deakins asked.

Bobby picked up with, "That's the thing; Peckham's equipment was never confiscated. It was left in the warehouse. Doogan lay low, waiting for the authorities to come and get it and it never happened. So, he began to use it. I have to tell you, that piece of equipment should go into a museum."

"This case really popped open again. What happened?"

"Bobby started investigating other counterfeiting schemes and came across Peckham's name."

"I looked at his prison records and found the son's name as the contact person. On a hunch, we interviewed him yesterday."

Eames grinned up at the Captain and raised her eyebrows. Thank God he's back, was the silent message between them. "So what's next on this?" he asked.

Eames replied, "Well, Carver is drawing up search warrants for Doogan's home, office, and warehouse. We'll bring him in and interview him again. I think this one is about to close, Captain."

Both Bobby and Deakins winced, and Deakins said, "You don't have it until you have it. Don't jinx this, Alex."

"Sorry," she whispered and went back to work.

Deakins lingered and said to Bobby, "How you doing?"

"Good, I'm good."

"Notice anything with those pills yet?"

Bobby glanced at Eames and shook his head. Deakins realized that he should not have asked about it in front of Bobby's partner, it was no one's business. "Say, has Carver talked to you about testifying at the Bandelli trial?"

"He said it was on the docket to begin Monday and to make plans to be available. I guess he and I are going to start prepping Thursday or Friday."

"This is going to be a long trial. It's been a long time coming."

"I know. It will be good to put that creep away for a long time."

Deakins nodded and walked to his office.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That afternoon, Bobby asked to see Deakins in his office.

"What can I do for you?" Deakins asked as Bobby followed him and shut his office door. "Have a seat."

"Gleason's been having these spells and I think it's her heart. I made an appointment with her heart doctor for Friday afternoon and I'd like to go with her. I'll, I'll need to take a few personal hours. That's ok, isn't it?"

"Yeah, sure," Deakins replied, but continued with, "Bobby, you know Carter wants to start preparing you for your testimony next week. I think he plans to start tomorrow afternoon and wants to continue on Friday. Why don't you give him a call and work it out. I want you to be ready for this trial. This is an important one."

"They're all important," Bobby answered with a scowl. "I'll call him, but I'm going with her to this appointment. I'll be ready for the trial." He stood and left.

It was so much easier when he was a regular, single guy Deakins thought.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	37. Chapter 37

178

Designed Intent

Chapter 37

Wednesday Night

After work, Bobby stopped at a bookstore and purchased several children's books. He enjoyed looking at all the selections and got caught up looking at the illustrations, reading the words. He found several that he remembered from his childhood, chose five and headed to the checkout.

"Your child is lucky to be getting such wonderful books," the lady said, taking his credit card.

Bobby's heart fell. He'd been fighting the thought of buying these for their child, their son, according to Gleason. Bobby smiled sadly, said nothing and waited for his card.

Afterward, he drove to Carmel Ridge.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mrs. Goren had just gotten back from dinner when he walked into her room.

"Hi, Mom," he said setting the bag of books on her bed and bending to give her a kiss on the cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Good, good. Where have you been? I was hoping to see you this weekend. Why didn't you come and see me? Where is Gleason? You didn't piss her off and lose her, did you?"

Bobby hated when she was coming off heavy sedation, she could be salty on a good day, but coming off those drugs, she was a brand new saltlick. "I brought you some children's books like you wanted," he offered, trying to change the subject. He retrieved the bag from her bed and handed it to her. "I got some good ones, I think."

Frances saw that the bag was from a store and not the library. "What the hell are these? You paid money for books? Bobby, why didn't you get books from the library? We always get our books from the library. Why didn't you? Is your library card no good anymore? If you use it, it will be good."

Bobby wiped his hands over his face and slouched down in his seat.

Frances continued, "Frank would have gotten them from the library. Frank is good with money, you're too extravagant." Frances pulled the books from the bag and examined them. "Well, at least you got good ones since we're stuck with them forever," she scowled.

Bobby could never please his mother, even as a child. Frank was the favorite son, he was named for her, and he favored her in appearance. Bobby always felt he was not wanted. He arrived six years after his brother, an after thought, a slip. Frank was not happy to have a baby brother taking attention away from him and was mean to Bobby. As he grew and it became clear that Bobby favored his father, things got worse. Bobby seemed to be the scapegoat when their mother got bad.

"I remember some of them from when I was little, Mom. You used to read them to me. And Frank. That Dr. Seuss one, about the fish, I always liked that one. And The Five Chinese Brothers, remember how we used to say the name with you?" Bobby would never give up trying to please her.

Frances looked at the book and he saw her smile. "Tiki-tiki-tim – something," she said, glancing at him.

"Yeah," he smiled back, sighed and relaxed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sledge opened Eames's apartment door and she entered, he followed, shut it and locked it. "Do you want to go out or order in?" she asked, "Or, do you want me to cook? We should have talked about his before we left work."

Sledge hung up her coat and stood at the doorway to the kitchen, hands in his pockets. He didn't say anything and he didn't know how to say what he had to say. Eames turned when he didn't respond and said, "What's wrong?"

"Hon, I have to go to Toronto this weekend. I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon and getting home Monday night. I'm taking a couple vacation days."

Eames stood perfectly still. She knew what this was about. "Ok."

Sledge knew he had hurt her. But, he reasoned, Alex knew about Linda, they had talked about his arrangement with her; she understood, didn't she? He did not see understanding in Alex's face, he saw sadness and hurt.

"Ok," she said again, "you should get going then. Uh, have a, have a nice time. Call me when you get back, ok?" She couldn't hide the quiver in her voice.

"Hon, don't be upset. You know about this, right?" He stepped to her and took her in his arms. She returned his hug and he kissed the top of her head. "Alex, we talked about this. You said you understood."

She nodded against his chest. He stepped away from her, holding her at arm's length, "I love you, Alex. I love you."

"Then don't go."

"Alex, Hon –,"

"If you love me, don't go to Toronto," she stepped back and looked up at him.

"Alex –."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby went straight home after visiting his mother. He was hungry and out of food as he had been eating better this week, and eating more. So, he had a bowl of cereal for dinner and then made two slices of toast with butter and orange marmalade. Then, he ate applesauce from the jar. Then he had another bowl of cereal, finishing the box. Man, am I hungry, he thought.

He watched the clock and was eager to speak with Gleason. He missed her. He loved her.

Finally, his phone rang, "Hi, Sweetheart."

"Hi," she breathed. He heard her breathing hard and fast.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes. I was rushing to get in to call you. How was your day, Love?" Her voice sounded whispery and breathy.

"Are you sure you are ok?"

Gleason's eyes slammed shut and she had to wait a second before answering – the pain in her chest was suddenly sharper, heavier.

"Gleason? Honey, answer me. Glea –?"

"I'm, oh, I'm ok. Just give me a minute." Gleason set the hand holding the phone in her lap as she concentrated on catching her breath. She was getting concerned about this – it was happening more frequently and intensely.

Bobby was on his feet, "Gleason!" he shouted into the phone.

She heard him and said, "I'm here, I'm here. Calm down, Bobby," she dragged in a breath and continued, "calm down. I'm all right."

He didn't believe her for one minute. "Jesus, Gleason, I worry about you. I'm going with you to your appointment with Dr. Creighton Friday. I'm taking a few hours personal time." He listened to her breathing slow and asked, "Are you ok now?"

"Yes, Love, I'm better. I am sure this is nothing. Dr. Creighton will probably adjust my medication or change it again. Don't worry. It's fixable. Now, tell me about your day. How was your visit with your mum?"

They spoke for nearly two hours, each having to plug in their phones.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday

Eames and Sledge had had a terrible argument the night before. She was getting sick and tired of having half of him. She thought she had reconciled to 'sharing' him with his ex-wife; apparently, she had not. They ended up shouting at each other, she threw something and he left with the door slamming behind him. Goddamn him anyway.

Alex sat and forced herself to concentrate on the paperwork. She didn't even notice when Sledge came from the elevators; Bobby was right behind him.

"Morning," Bobby said, hanging up his coat.

"Yeah."

He noticed that she didn't even glance up, "You want some coffee?"

"I have tea, thanks."

Bobby pulled out his seat and said, "Gleason's coming home tonight. And Carter wants me to meet him at his office to begin prepping for the Ban –,"

"Yeah, I know – the Bandelli trial. So this means you're going to be out this afternoon and then heading to the airport from Carver's and I'm going to be stuck here finishing up this goddamn counterfeit book case by myself. Jesus!" and with that she stood up, took her cup and headed for the coffee room.

Bobby's eyebrows shot up and his hands went palms open at his shoulders. Sheesh! he thought, what is with her?

Sledge walked over to Bobby and said, "She bite your ass, too?"

Bobby looked up and said, "She seems upset."

"Yeah, well, your partner can be a jealous bitch."

Bobby looked away and said, "Whatever it is, I don't want to know. Excuse me." He stood with his cup and headed to the coffee room.

Eames was inside, slamming things, making a fresh pot of coffee that she didn't even drink. Bobby stopped at the door and hesitated about going in. Then he turned and ran right into Sledge, "Oh, sorry. I, uh, I don't think the coffee is done yet." He half grinned and nodded back toward the door.

"Yeah, well, let's see if we can speed things up a bit." Sledge stepped around Bobby and entered the coffee room, shutting the door behind him. Bobby just shook his head and wandered back to his desk. He set down his cup and shuffled to the soda machines.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason had finished lunch and was heading for her last class. She was going to let them go early so she could get home and meet the cab she had arranged. It was easier, and less expensive, to take a cab to the airport and back. She didn't have to fight traffic, didn't have to pay the outrageous parking fees, didn't have to walk forever. It had been Bobby's idea and she was glad to agree with him on this.

Midway through her lecture on the formation of pronouns in Western polysyllabic languages – blink! – the lights went out, literally. The projector whined to silence as the mob of students uttered expressions of surprise.

"Would someone get the lights back there, please?" she asked into the darkness.

A shuffling indicated someone had moved toward the switch and then a voice shouted, "I think the power is out. Nothing happens when I turn the switch."

The group moaned and the disembodied voice apparently moved to the door at the top of the ramp and pushed it open. Sunlight streamed in, adding dim light to the gloomy interior.

Another voice called out, "Can we go?"

Gleason hesitated and then said, "Well, I was going to let you go early anyway. See you Tuesday. Enjoy the darkness. Prop that door open, would you?"

The students shuffled and headed toward the doors. Gleason walked to her right and propped open the outside door at the bottom of the ramp. Using that light, she shut off the projector and stowed the computer, repacked her bag, shut the lower door and headed up the ramp. She saw Malcolm heading her way as she exited and shut the door.

"I was hoping to catch you."

"The lights went out so I let everyone go."

Without thinking, he put his arm around her waist and she pulled away, "I'm sorry, sorry. Apparently, the power is off in the whole Chicago area – a blackout; everything is shut down."

"Everything? What happened? Is it on the news?"

"Willow and I were talking whilst she was on her way in and she heard it on the car radio. She was stuck at a traffic light that had gone out."

"These things never last long, do they?"

"That one in New York a few years ago lasted several days."

Gleason stopped and said, "Well, I guess I'll go home, then."

"And do what?"

She looked up at him and read his mind, "Get ready to go home to Bobby," she said steadily.

"I see; you're going home a day early, eh? What about your class tomorrow? "

"Don't worry, they have an assignment. I shall bring you a doctor's note so you and Dr. Marlowe won't think I'm skipping out."

Malcolm was suddenly serious, "You're seeing someone about the pain in your chest?"

"Aye. Bobby is concerned; and I am as well. I am certain it is just a medication change or such."

"I worry about you, too, Gleason. You know how I feel about you," he said softly, walking so close that his hip brushed hers. He desperately wanted to put his arm around her; he felt himself begin to swell in his trousers.

"You never stop, do you? Malcolm, I have been very clear about this. I don't want . . ."

"You are breaking my heart, Love, you know that, don't you?"

"For God's sake, stop it. Just stop." They walked silently, Malcolm wanting her, Gleason thinking of Bobby. "Wait!" she exclaimed, stopping dead. It had just occurred to her that the blackout would shut down the airports. "I was supposed to go home this evening. I need to call Bobby."

With that, she headed to a bench and dug for her phone. Malcolm stood and watched with his hands in his pockets, looking a lot like Bobby in that pose. "I'll call you later to see if you're ok. All right?" he asked her. "Maybe I can come over. Just to talk, just to talk. I swear."

She glanced up at him and nodded, waiting for Bobby to answer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Call the airline and see what the status of your flight is. . . . That's the first thing to do. If it's canceled, then rebook for the first flight possible. . . . I'll reschedule with Dr. Creighton if we need to. . . . I know, I know. . . . Call the airline and then call me, ok? . . . I love you, Sweetheart. . . . Call when you know something. . . . Ok, bye."

Goddamn it! He slapped his phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket. Sonofabitch!

"Everything all right, Detective?" Carver asked as Bobby returned from the Assistant District Attorney's outer office.

"Where were we?"

Bobby wiped his hand over his face and tried to refocus on the testimony he was to deliver at the Bandelli mob trial the following week.


	38. Chapter 38

181

Designed Intent

Chapter 38

Friday Afternoon

"It's just a few more hours, Honey. You know these delays happen. Did they say why?"

"They said the incoming plane was delayed by traffic in Charlotte. They keep pushing back the departure time." Gleason was furious, but more frustrated and disappointed than anything.

"Ok, well, it's not weather, so they'll get you here at some point. Call me when you board, ok?"

"Ok. I love you."

"I love you, too." Bobby snapped shut his phone, returned to the body sprawled on the concrete, and knelt beside it.

Eames had kept her eyes on him from the time he jumped up and walked away when his cell rang. She saw him work to control his temper; Gleason was supposed to come home yesterday. Now she watched him refocus.

"Uh, this, this . . . ," he stopped pointing at something he saw on the victim's upper body and wiped his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. Suddenly Bobby stood up and just looked at the body for a minute. He wiped his forehead again.

"You ok?" Eames asked softly. She did not like the dark look gathering in his face; not one bit.

"Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute, ok?" he replied sharply. "Just give me a minute." Bobby had to walk away. His mind was everywhere. One goddamn thing after another, he screamed to himself, she was supposed to come home yesterday! However, a black out had shut down everything in and around Chicago until noon today -- now this. He was desperate to see her, hold her. Fuck!

Bobby strode back and knelt beside the body. "Here, look at this," he said, pointing to the exact spot as before, "see this? What is this? I can't tell." He looked up and hollered to everyone standing around, "Anybody have a magnifying glass?" Eames caught a muttered, "No shit, Sherlock," and then a few muffled laughs.

Bobby must have caught it too because his demeanor changed, he seemed hurt. "Uh, I'm going to need some shots of this, please," he said quietly to the CSU photographer standing by. Bobby stood aside while the woman did her thing with the camera. "Thanks," he told her.

Eames continued to scope the immediate area and directed the bagging of bits of broken glass. "I've got blood and hair over here," she called to her partner.

"Would you go and take shots of what she found while I finish here, please?" he said to the photographer. The woman headed over while Bobby continued with the body. He took each hand and sniffed. Some kind of chips, taco maybe, he thought. "Be sure to bag the hands," he mentioned to a CSU member then added, "Uh, he's ready to go."

Bobby wandered over to Eames, "What did you find?"

"Blood and hair. On the corner of this bench."

He stepped closer and the photographer stepped away. "Yeah, this is good," he mumbled. I need to start carrying a magnifying glass, one of those with a built in light, he told himself.

Eames called over for CSU to gather the evidence.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"For those of you who have been waiting to go to JFK . . .," Immediately the gate area fell silent, waiting for the rest. ". . ." Well? Gleason wondered along with everyone else. God, these Americans with a microphone! The whole world is a stage and they are the fools upon it! Gleason was in no mood for stupid attempts at humor. ". . . your plane has left Charlotte and will arrive in . . . approximately . . . ninety minutes, that's approximate now. After a swift offloading of passengers and bags, and a quick clean up, we will be ready to go, hopefully, in about . . . thirty minutes after that. So, we are going to New York tonight, in about two and a half hours. Please stay within the gate area in case of any changes. Thank you for your patience."

Just as quickly, the sound level resumed and a number of passengers rushed to the desk. Gleason checked the clock in the corner of the screen behind the gate desk and did the math. Her two o'clock fight had been pushed to four o'clock; it was now about three-thirty, add two and a half more hours waiting makes for a six pm departure; ok, six o'clock plus ninety minutes in the air is seven-thirty, eight-thirty in New York, more like nine . . . we may be able to get dinner after all, she thought.

She wished she had thought to bring some work to do whilst she waited. Two quizzes and a stack of reports sat waiting back in her office. She also needed to read the most recent draft of the article Willow, Malcolm and she had written. She had told them she would read it and suggest revisions. This task fell to her, they told her, because she had written three books. She had left everything in her office as she thought she and Bobby would be home in bed by now. She missed him and could not wait to be with him. Gleason hated wasting this time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Night

Bobby and Gleason went straight from the airport to Porcini's for dinner. It was late and they were both starving. Bobby could not keep his hands off her. He held her hand as they ordered and as they waited for their salads.

"I have missed you so much, Sweetheart," he told her, his thumb sliding over the back of her hand.

"This will be a nice weekend together, Love. It is so good to be home. It will be so good to be in bed with you."

Bobby smiled at her want. He would please her in so many ways tonight, this weekend; God, he missed her. They began to make plans as to what they would do tomorrow when Bobby's cell rang. They both froze; it would either his mother or Eames, he prayed it would be his mother. Bobby pulled the cell from his suit coat pocket and checked the number. His eyes slammed shut and he uttered a silent, 'fuck.'

"Don't tell me we're getting called out," he said into the phone without preamble, rising to walk to the lobby for privacy.

"I know, I know and I'm sorry. Another one turned up near Chelsea Pier Sixty-Two; Deakins thinks they're from the same doer and wants us to check it out. I'll pick you up. Are you at home?"

Bobby was steaming, "No, Gleason and I are at Porcini's trying to have a nice dinner together. I guess that's not going to happen now."

"Bobby, this is not my fault! Don't shoot the messenger. I can be at Porcini's in fifteen minutes. Do you want me to come in, or will you wait outside?"

"I'll meet you outside," and he flipped shut his phone and returned to their table. He looked at the beautiful woman across from him and said, "Honey, I am so sorry."

Gleason smiled at him and said, "I understand Love, we'll have the rest of the weekend. Don't give it any mind. I'll take home our dinners and we can eat when you get there."

God, he loved this woman. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" Bobby caught the server as she passed by and told her they needed their meals to take away. The server smiled knowingly, thinking she knew why. Boy was she wrong.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Very Early Saturday Morning

Bobby let himself in and locked the door behind him. He was hungry and tired, but he wanted to be with Gleason more than anything. He opened the bedroom door and Gleason roused, "Are you all right?" she mumbled over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Honey, I'm sorry about tonight."

"It's ok, Love, it's your job. Are you hungry? Our dinners are in the fridge," she said, turning over to look at him.

Bobby said nothing as he stripped and climbed in beside her. He wrapped himself around her and sought her mouth with his. He was completely erect and started pulling up her nightgown. Gleason kissed him and then tried to push him off her, "Bobby you need to sleep. We'll make love in the morning. Wait, Bawb –."

He kissed her again, hard, pulled her onto her back and pushed himself between her legs. "Oh, god, Gleason, I, I –," he maneuvered her so he could enter her, placed himself at her opening and shoved. He pushed and pulled three times and came with a subtle groan. She felt him jerk inside her and then she couldn't breathe.

She gasped and whispered, "Get off! Get off me! Bobby –," and pushed him away. He rolled off her and onto his back. Gleason left the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Bobby watched her hurry and then turned onto his right side to wait for her to return. He was asleep in less than a minute.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	39. Chapter 39

186

Designed Intent

Chapter 39

Very Early Saturday Morning

Gleason sat rocking on the edge of the tub, pulling great, deep breaths, both arms vertical against her chest. Oh, she could not breathe! Her chest felt as though it was under a ton of bricks. She slammed shut her eyes and forced herself to calm down, fighting to control each breath.

Slowly, the weight lifted and she was breathing normally. She used the toilet and took a washcloth from the narrow closet. She ran the hot water and cleaned herself several times. Then she cried. Goddamn him!

She had been gone nearly twenty minutes when she returned to their bed. Bobby was sleeping soundly. It was three-twenty-one Saturday morning.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Bobby, Bobby! Your phone, answer your phone!" Gleason nudged him and finally he roused.

"Wha-?"

"Answer your phone."

He found it on the bedside table, flipped it open, cleared his throat and grunted, "Goren," and then dropped back onto the pillow.

"It's me. Get dressed. Deakins thinks it's the beginning of a spree." Eames waited for it, but it didn't come. "Did you hear me? . . . Bobby?"

Slowly and somewhat slurred he answered, "I heard you."

"Are you getting up?"

"What time is it?"

"Almost five. Get out of bed."

He said nothing for almost too long and then, "Eames. I got home after three, we made love and then we went to sleep. I've had less than two hours of sleep, I'm not going to do you any good. Take Sledge." He nearly flipped shut the phone, but Gleason got up and headed to the kitchen to start the coffee and juice. Besides, Eames started yelling at him and he said, "Ok, ok! Jesus, I'm getting up; right, twenty minutes. Buzz when you get here." With that, he flipped shut the phone and went into the bathroom.

Gleason didn't think she had ever been so angry. Not about him being called away from dinner, not even this – being called out again. What riled her was that – one, he had told his partner about their sex; and – two, he considered what he did to her making love. She shook with her anger. In short order, the coffee was dripping, the juice was poured and the travel mugs were set out. She slid two slices of bread into the toaster for him.

Bobby came around the corner with, "Honey, I'm sorry I have to go out again. I'm sorry." He crossed to her leaning against the sink and reached to hold her.

"Don't touch me, you bastard," she hissed at him and twisted away.

He was shocked; Gleason had never used a foul word against him before. "What?! This is not my doing, Sweetheart, I don't --,"

"You have no idea, do you?"

Bobby was genuinely clueless. He stared at her and then said softly, cautiously, "No, apparently I don't. What did I do?"

"First, don't you ever, under any circumstances, speak of what we do in bed to anyone. Understand?"

"Ok, ok. I, I'm sorry."

She did not want to cry with this next bit, but it happened anyway, "Do you, do you honestly think that what happened in that bed earlier was making love?"

What is going on here, he wondered. "Gleason, I came home, got into bed, and . . . yeah, we made love."

She stared at him and then it all came out, loudly, "_We_ did not make love. _You_ had sex with my body. I served as your receptacle. I was barely wet! Had I not been in that bed, you would have masturbated onto the sheet." Oh, she was angry!

Bobby stood with his mouth open. He reran the whole thing in his mind. At no point did he think she was not enjoying it. Ok, so it happened a little quickly, and, there wasn't a lot of foreplay, and he did seem to be doing everything, but . . . _receptacle_, _masterb_-? No, no, she's upset about something else. "Honey, why didn't you stop me if you didn't want to? I would have stopped; you know that, don't you?" He was truly contrite. "Honey, please, let me hold you."

"Stay away from me! I did tell you, Bobby. I did. But you didn't hear me or didn't want to."

Incredulously he asked, "When? When did you tell me? What did you say? Gleason, I do not remember this."

She knew she had to calm down because that pressing feeling on her chest was beginning. Gleason took the tea towel from the counter and wiped her nose, and then she pulled out a chair and sat, as she didn't trust her legs to hold her up. She tried to breathe slowly and deeply and finally was able to hitch out, "You wrapped yourself around me and kissed me, and pulled up my nightgown, I told you that you needed to get some sleep and that we would make love in the morning. I told you that, but you didn't listen or you ignored me. You kissed me again and then you were on your way. Bobby you were already hard when you slid up next to me. You couldn't wait to come."

Well. _That_ certainly was not the way he remembered it. Bobby sincerely did not know what to say. He stood there with his arms crossed. Gleason stared at him, expecting some kind of response. "Why didn't you say something afterward?" he asked softly.

She shook her head sadly and said, "I did. I told you to get off of me, that I couldn't breathe."

"No, why didn't you say something about it before now?"

Gleason stared at him, stood up, and said bitterly, "Because you were asleep." The door buzzer sounded and they both jumped.

"We need to talk this through, Gleason. Honey, I, I'm sorry that I did that. I don't, I, we'll talk more when I come home. This won't take long, we'll talk then. Honey, I don't want this between us. Baby, I'm so sorry. We'll talk when I get home, ok?"

Gleason started down the hall. He watched her and then it occurred to him what she might do and he started after her, "Gleason, you'll be here, right? When I get home, you'll be here?" The buzzer sounded again, and he felt the heat begin. Bobby turned and strode to the speaker next to the door, stabbed and held the button to unlock the lobby door, and then started back to the bedroom. She was getting back into bed, "Honey, will you be here? You're not going to leave, are you?"

She lay with her back to him, ignoring him. Don't, don't lose it, he told himself, it will only make it worse. "Gleason, tell me that you'll be here." Eames was at the door. Goddamn it!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby yanked open the door and Eames stepped through, "Would you finish with the coffee?" he said, pointing toward the kitchen and then marching back toward the bedroom. "Yeah, sure no prob-," she said to the sound of the bedroom door slamming and she headed into the kitchen.

"All I want to know is – are you going to be here when I get back?" Bobby shouted.

"Lower your voice!"

He was tired, hungry, and mad as hell. "Then answer me!" he yelled.

"Yes, I'll be here."

Bobby glared at her for a second and then turned, slamming the door shut behind him.

Eames was in the hallway outside the apartment, embarrassed to tears. She could not believe what she had heard. He was shouting at Gleason! Jesus, she never imagined him to yell at home. Poor Gleason; his temper is a problem at home, too. Dear God.

Bobby met her in the hall and she continued to hold both travel mugs while Bobby locked the door. "You ready?" he asked. All she could do was nod.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason alternated between anger, frustration, hurt, and disappointment. He had never done that before, just taken her like that. Bobby was the gentlest, most giving lover. He always made sure she was satisfied before he came. She knew that her orgasm launched his. That fact always gave her such a warm feeling, knowing that what he did, they did, could take her to such heights and that her heights brought him to his.

Gleason had so looked forward to being in bed with him again. She missed him totally. She missed his voice; it wasn't the same on the phone. She missed his scent. Gleason turned over and faced his side of the bed, pulling his pillow close and inhaling his smell. She missed his touch. Bobby always, every chance, touched her. She loved that, him touching her for no reason. She missed their lovemaking. Slowly, Gleason fell asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby hadn't said a word since the hallway and Eames certainly wasn't going to say anything. They rode in silence. At the scene, Eames got out and began pulling on the gloves she kept in her coat pocket. Bobby rummaged through her glove box and found the plastic bag of extra large that she always kept for him. He exited the car pulling on the gloves and walked past Eames and the officer she was speaking with.

He walked straight to the body and knelt over it. He used his pocket flash light to examine the neck first. "Can I get some light over here, please?" he shouted out. Two uniforms walked up, pointing high power flashlights on the body whilst Bobby continued to probe.

Eames walked over, but stood back, watching. "Bag his hands," Bobby said to the CSU member as he stood. "It's, it's the same," he said to Eames without looking at her. "The ligature looks the same, same kind of gash on the back of the head, and the hands have that same, taco chip smell." Eames just nodded.

"Did anyone locate a weapon, something that was used to hit this guy on the head?" he asked one of the officers holding the flashlight.

"We got guys out there looking, Detective."

Bobby nodded. "This is the third one in what, ten hours?" he hadn't looked at Eames yet, he spoke to the body. "Someone is cleaning house? They all have the same taco chip smell on the hands. They were all at the same place, eating chips? A party? A bar?" Bobby thought out loud, rhetorically almost. 'Who found the body? Who called it in?"

The same officer replied, "Me and my partner, we was on patrol and came across him just laying there. I called dispatch and somehow you guys from Major Case got called."

"Thanks," Bobby said to the officer. Finally, he looked at Eames and said, "What? Are you upset with me, too? What did I do to you?" Eames looked at him for a minute and walked back to speak with the same officer she started with.

Bobby knew immediately he was wrong to snap at Eames like that. His skin crawled; he hated fighting with Gleason. It seemed they fought every time they were together after being apart. Bobby could not believe he had done what Gleason claimed. He would not do that; that was his father, his brother Frank, not him. He was not like them. His gut churned.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	40. Chapter 40

191

Designed Intent

Chapter 40

Saturday Morning

"Deakins called and wants us to debrief him at the office," Eames said flatly, as Bobby walked up. He nodded and they headed to the vehicle.

Again, they rode in silence until Bobby said, "I, I'm sorry about that back there. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that." He glanced over at his partner and saw her head tilt and shake sadly.

Eames answered with, "Sure." They rode in silence once more. Bobby stared at the golden glow spreading over and behind the buildings as Saturday dawned in earnest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason was dressing when she heard the front door open. She stepped into the hallway, expecting to see Bobby.

"Mitter Bobby? Mitter Bobby, you here?" Estella shut the door behind her and set her bag and jacket on Bobby's chair. She was hoping he was not at home, as she didn't want to have to face him after finding his little treasure in the handkerchief last weekend. At least the apartment wasn't a wreck as it had been the last time she was here. So, he's cleaned up his act, has he?

"Estella, hello," Gleason said.

"Oh! Desus Krite! Mitter Bobby Lady, you scairt me! Desus!" Estella put a hand to her chest, shut her eyes and then crossed herself.

"I'm so sorry! Oh, Estella, are you all right?" Gleason smiled slightly at the drama.

"Yet, yet. I ok. You home dit weekend? Dat nice. Mitter Bobby, he mitt you so much. He lub you, you know? He lub you a lot. You know he lub you? Right? He do lub you. You not bin home in long time. You bin busy, huh? Teaching college is big work. Still, Mitter Bobby, he mitt you. You need to come home more.

"He sad, lots of time. He drink too much cause he miss you. He gonna get chubby wif all that drink. An sick. He drink too much. You need to come home more. You donne want him chubby, huh?" Estella smiled somewhat sadly at the lovely lady. She moved to the kitchen while she spoke and took the pail from under the sink, filling it with hot water.

Gleason listened as she sat on the sofa, putting on her sneakers and tying them, wondering what had gotten into Estella – going on like that. She stood and said, "Estella, is there anything you want me to help you with before I go out?"

"Where id Mitter Bobby? He seepin'?"

"No, no. He was called out early this morning. He'll be home at some point today. Did Bobby send you the check for this month?"

"Yet. He always pay me good. Witt all my other people would pay like he do. Ok, you be careful. Buy him some good stuff. No more drink, doe. He drink too much."

"Thanks, Estella." Gleason pulled on her jacket and set out. She wondered what Estella meant with 'he drinks too much?' Gleason dug her keys from her bag and walked to the car.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are they related?" Deakins asked the exhausted pair. Eames sat and Bobby stood by the door.

"Yeah, same head wound, same ligature marks, and same taco chip smell on the hands. I'd say they are related."

"You agree Eames?"

She looked up and said, "Yes, they are related. The timeline is interesting, though – three bodies over ten hours. The ME will be able to determine the precise order and timeframe."

"What's your theory?" Deakins asked Bobby.

"The doer is cleaning house. The three vics and the doer may have been together at a bar or a party; maybe just sharing a bag. The, uh, the taco chip smell puts all three vics at the same place."

"Well, there hasn't been another, so maybe he's done. Finish your paperwork on these three, mark them open and then go home. Get some sleep."

Eames stood and moved to the door; Bobby opened it and followed her to their desks. She fired up her computer and accessed the first of six forms to be completed. Bobby looked at the clock on the wall and put his head in his hands; ten-forty, they had at least an hour of forms to complete. He opened his computer and accessed the second form. The detectives worked in silence, each completing the forms. Neither said a word.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason looked at the clock on the dash and wondered if he would get back in time for their one o'clock appointment with Dr. Stephens. Secretly, she hoped they would have to cancel. The blackout Thursday had caused Bobby to have to cancel yesterday's appointment with Dr. Creighton. She had wanted to keep that appointment, however, as she knew something was wrong with her heart.

She went to the grocery and bought healthy things for him. She would make a nice dinner tonight. Gleason had decided to look past Bobby's temper. She had to stop taking offence when he got upset with her. He took me this morning like he did because he loves me, wants me, she thought. On some level, Gleason knew this was not healthy, but didn't care; she was used to overlooking things. If she could ignore the physical abuse Clive had inflicted, she could certainly ignore the emotional abuse from Bobby.

Gleason loaded the two bags into the back seat and the first one promptly fell over, spilling tomatoes all over the floor. She retrieved them, reaching under the front passenger seat for two strays, and found more than tomatoes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was sitting at the kitchen table when Bobby came through the door at twelve thirty-four. He exhaled with relief when he saw her sitting there, "Honey?"

She stood and walked around him, reaching for her wrap on the back of Bobby's chair. "Let's go," she said.

"Give me a minute," he said quietly and headed toward the bathroom; she's still angry, he thought.

Gleason debated what to do. She reached inside her bag and her hand jolted away from the pink thong she had found in his car. She had not been able to draw a deep enough breath since she found it.

"Gleason, I," he said coming down the hall, but she was already out the door, heading to the steps. He locked the apartment and rushed after her.

"I parked near the corner," she said flatly, as he trotted to her side. She handed him the car keys and he tried to take her hand, but she stuffed them into her pockets. He unlocked and opened her door, helped her in and went around to his side, got in and Gleason said, "Wait." He stopped with his hand on the key in the ignition, turned and looked at her, expecting her to say that she had changed her mind.

"I found this under the seat," she said, pulling the thong from her bag by a strap.

Bobby's eyes went to the item and he exhaled sharply, as if he'd been punched in the chest. Slowly his eyes rose to Gleason's face. His mouth dried up, his heart raced and his hand dropped from the key.

She wouldn't stop staring at him and he had to look away. "Oh, God," he whispered.

"I hope you used a condom," she said.

Bobby covered his face with his hands. Gleason dropped the thong on the console between the seats and said, "We're going to be late."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They stood waiting for the elevator in the lobby of Dr. Shepherd's office building, maintaining their silence.

"Hello, come on in," Dr. Stephens said with a bright smile. Bobby stood aside, letting Gleason enter first and then went to take her wrap.

"Don't – this won't take long," she said, shrugging away, not looking at him. "Hello, I'm Gleason Wintermantle," she said with her hand extended. Dr. Stephens shook her hand and then glanced at Bobby looking at the floor. "I agreed to come here because he wanted me to. However, it has become clear that we have nothing to salvage. You are welcome to speak with him, I'm leaving."

Bobby turned and walked to the bookcases. Dr. Stephens was stunned. She knew this was going to be difficult, but she wasn't expecting this. "Dr. Wintermantle, please, let's at least talk this one time."

Gleason moved to the door, "Goodbye."

"Please don't go," he breathed turning from the bookcases, "please."

She stopped with her hand on the knob. Dr. Stephens knew something awful had happened.

"Gleason, it was when you left. I was out of my mind. I hate myself for doing it. It meant nothing. Please, Sweetheart, don't go. Please."

Dr. Stephens realized then that Gleason must have found out about Bobby and the woman in his car the other night. Gleason knew that if she didn't get out of there, she would never be able to leave him. She began to feel light-headed and held tight to the door, eyes shut tight; she knew that if she left now she would probably pass out before she got to the elevator.

"Dr. Wintermantle, have a seat; you're already here."

Gleason turned and sat heavily on the love seat; all of her color was gone and she drew short breaths. Dr. Stephens noticed her pallor and asked, "Are you all right?"

Bobby crossed the room and squatted in front of her, his hand against her left cheek and jaw. Dr. Stephens felt for the pulse on Gleason's wrist and said, "Your pulse is very slow."

Gleason looked at him and her eyes filled. "Why did you do it?" she whispered.

His head fell and he stood up. He thought he was going to be sick. "Glea-, I, I, I wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry." There was nothing else to say.

"Did you use a condom?"

"Detective, why don't you have a seat?" Bobby sat beside Gleason, and tentatively reached for her hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	41. Chapter 41

196

Designed Intent

Chapter 41

Saturday Afternoon

For the next ninety minutes, Dr. Stephens and Bobby talked about trust and mistrust – it became clear that Bobby trusted Gleason but did not trust Malcolm; Gleason could look at neither of them. The doctor and detective spoke of the role of sex in their relationship – Gleason literally shook during this bit, said nothing, and could look at neither of them. The pair spoke of events that trigger his temper – apparently, Gleason was the cause of most of his outbursts at home. She was embarrassed and saddened by this and could look at neither of them. During it all, Gleason said nothing.

"Detective, I want you to try a mild antidepressant. I think it may help even out your feelings. Would you be amenable to that?"

Gleason finally looked up at him. He shut his eyes and tilted his head to the left. He didn't want to admit that he needed chemicals to fix him. He knew their unhappiness was his fault; and, he knew he would do whatever he had to do not to lose her. He nodded, his fingers wiping his eyes.

Dr. Stephens stood and went to her desk. "This is little more than a stabilizer; it will build up in your system over the next two weeks. You should notice little change. What will happen, however, is that your reaction to situations that anger you will be slower and reduced.

"Will this affect his reaction time on the job?" Gleason asked.

"No, it shouldn't. However, you need to let your captain know that you are taking this medication; it is approved for use in safety services. Get this filled today." She tore off the slip and returned to her seat, handing it over to him. "I would like to make this a standing appointment. Is that all right with both of you?" She looked at each of them and saw willingness in Bobby, but abject disappointment in Gleason.

Bobby looked at Gleason and waited for her to respond. He wanted them to continue, but knew Gleason would not. "Honey?"

"You've said very little today, Gleason. You are a part of this counseling. Bobby and I need to know how you feel about things, what you are thinking. Do you even want to save this relationship?"

Gleason took her fingers from her lips where they had fled at Dr. Stephens's recommendation. Barely whispering she said, "I cannot do this. Our problems are my fault; I make him unhappy, I make him angry. But, I have overlooked so much trying to make him happy. I cannot do this. I cannot. It's too hard to love him and change so that he loves me. I cannot do this." And she began to cry.

Gleason pulled her hand from his and covered her face. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him. Dr. Stephens was at a loss. She could talk a victim back from trauma, she could counsel away nightmares, she could even help addicts regain control of their lives, but she was no good when it came to love. She knew she could not help these two.

Bobby gave Gleason his handkerchief and she continued, "We have so little time together when I come home. I was hoping this would be it." She looked at Bobby and said, "You come and talk, Bobby, but I am finished." She looked back at Dr. Stephens and said, "Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for helping Bobby." She stood, headed to the door, took her wrap and left.

Bobby stood and then looked down, "I'm sorry, Dr. Stephens. She won't come back. Thank you, though. I'll, I'll see you Wednesday."

Dr. Stephens said, "I understand. Fill that prescription today. It will help, Detective, I promise."

Bobby nodded and met Gleason at the elevator.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neither said anything all the way home and he didn't try to touch her. They stopped at the pharmacy and Bobby had the prescription filled. Once home, he said, "We need to talk."

She said nothing.

"Sit down and talk with me."

Gleason heard the edge in his voice and sat on the sofa with her hands folded between her knees. She would not look at him.

"Do you love me?" he asked, standing in front of his chair, hands jammed into his pockets.

"You slept with another woman."

He looked away and squeezed his eyes with his fingers. "I know," he breathed.

"Why?"

He turned away and held his hands at his shoulders, "I told you – I wanted to hurt you."

"You had sex to hurt me?" She stared at his back. "If I hadn't found that thong, how was I to know? You had sex with her because you like sex. You use me for sex. Bobby, we have sex on the phone. You have sex with my body even when I don't want to. You masturbate."

"I love you," he said turning to face her.

"You don't love me. You love sex."

"Tell me you don't like what we do," he took a step toward her, his left hand chopping the air. "Tell me you don't like it. Why would you instigate sex on the phone – you always have, every time, Gleason – if you didn't like it?" He stared at her.

It was true. She loved making love to him. He took her to heights she had never known. She loved the feel of his skin, his fingers, his tongue. He was enormous and filled her beyond any thing, any one. She missed making love to him.

"Sex isn't love, Bobby," she said quietly, sadly.

He knew she was right. But he did love her, he did, and sex was a part of that love. "Gleason, I will never love anyone but you. I, I cannot live if you don't love me."

She stood, stepped around him, and said dismissively, "Oh, for God's sake, stop being dramatic." Bobby took her arm and stopped her. She looked at his hand on her arm and said, "Let go."

"No."

"Let go of me," she said almost menacingly, looking at his face.

Bobby pulled her close and took her head in both hands. He kissed her hard, his mouth open against hers. His left hand moved down her back, pulling her tight against him. She felt him rise against her and felt herself swell and moisten.

"Love me," he breathed, "love me."

Gleason's arms went around his back and she moaned against his neck. He began to pull at her clothing and she went for his buckle. Suddenly, he took her hand and led her down the hall to the bedroom. They stripped and he lifted the sheet and coverlet, she took her place and he was beside her, up on his elbow as was his way.

Bobby bent and kissed her, she reached for his cock. "Did you use a condom?" she breathed. "With her, did you use a condom?" He dipped and whispered, "Yes, yes."

"Then fuck me."

Bobby moved between her legs and lifted her bottom; he set his long, stiff dick against her opening and shoved all the way up. "Ungh!" he grunted and Gleason arched silently. He was on his knees, palms on the bed beside her head, looking down on her, watching her. Gleason's legs spread wide, her hands clutched at the sheet, her eyes closed and she breathed through her mouth.

They lay like this, he skewering her on his dick, filling her, she gripping him inside, loving the feel of him inside her. "Do it," she whispered, looking up into his eyes. Slowly, he withdrew and she hissed. Slowly he pushed in and her head tilted back. In and out, slowly, slowly, he fucked her. She made not a sound.

"Good?" he breathed. She said nothing in reply. He watched her as he pulled out and pushed into her, sliding against her tight, hot, wet walls all the way up and all the way down. He wanted to go fast, but he couldn't tell if she was ready. "Glea-?" Why was she being so quiet? "Oh, God, Honey, I, I wanna. . ." She put her hands on his upper arms and squeezed. He took that as an ok to jam her.

Bobby shoved hard, stayed, pulled out; shoved hard, stayed, and pulled out – over and over again. Gleason jolted under him. He grunted with each shove, his grunts coming faster and deeper with each faster and harder shove, yet she remained silent.

He was close. Jesus Christ! Why doesn't she come, he breathed in his own mind. Come, c'mon. "Glea-? Ungh, ungh!" He was going to come but he always waited for her. C'mon!

Finally, he heard her breaths coming faster. He looked at her to be certain that she was ok and saw the look – yeah, she was going to come. He shoved hard and stayed, jerking and grunting his cum into her. Gleason arched tight against him and her hands went to his back, nails biting into his skin, ripping red lines. Soft, nearly silent grunts issued from her throat.

He finished, panting, and waited to see if she would come again, she usually did since her pregnancy. But, she did not; she settled and sighed, looking up into his face. "Are you all right?" he asked softly, his breathing slowing.

Her eyes never left his as her breathing slowed and she nodded slightly. Slowly, he withdrew from her body; he was softening yet still very long. Her eyes slammed shut, she hissed and arched as he did so; he knew she liked when he pulled from her; a long, low groan came from her throat. Bobby lay beside her, his right leg between hers, and his wet, soft cock limp on her right thigh. He was up on his left elbow, looking at her. "Do you want more?" he asked quietly, his hand moving toward her place.

She looked at him for a moment and then shook her head, 'no.'

He placed his palm against the left side of her face and kissed her gently. She returned the kiss and they stared at each other. "I love you," he whispered.

"I know you do," was her reply.

The same chill of doubt and fear flashed through him, "Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Then say it. I need you to say it."

She looked at him, yet said nothing. Then, "I love you, Bobby."

He stared back at her and knew things had changed – she was different while making love, quieter, restrained; the sense of conviction was gone from her voice when she said she loved him; she looked at him differently, almost curiously, uncertainly; and he knew nothing would ever be the same.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	42. Chapter 42

200

Designed Intent

Chapter 42

Late Saturday Afternoon

"Ow! Jesus!" Bobby said aloud in the shower, wincing and scrunching up his shoulders, jerking away from the streams. Gleason had raked open lines across his back when she came as they made love. The hot water beating on his back stung like crazy in the open skin.

He finished quickly and dressed in clean clothes. He could not remember being this hungry. Gleason was dishing his warm-from-the-microwave dinner from the restaurant. She opened the last bottle of Silver Birch and planned to finish it.

"I am starving," he said coming around the corner into the kitchen. Gleason didn't even look up.

"Well, here it is. Sit and eat whilst it is hot. I'm going to shower."

"Aren't you going to eat with me?"

"No, I stink." With that, she headed toward the bathroom.

Bobby was starved, but suddenly not hungry. He put her food on a dish and set it in the microwave. He saw that she had opened the last bottle of wine and he poured her a glass. He poured orange juice for himself, drained it and poured another. Her dinner dinged and he heard the shower stop. Good, she won't be long.

"You didn't eat?" she asked. Damp curls framed her face as the rest of her wild locks billowed behind her stretchy headband. God she is beautiful, he thought.

"I want to eat with you."

"Well, eat."

"Are you upset with me?"

Gleason ignored him, speared a piece of broccoli from her plate and popped it into her mouth. Then she looked at him. "Eat," she said around the food in her mouth.

Bobby felt the anger flare, but he quenched it just as quickly. He took a bite of meat and was famished. They ate in silence.

After cleaning the kitchen, again in silence, Bobby said, "Let's do something. Go to a movie or something."

"Why?" she asked.

"_Why_? Gleason, you're home. Let's do something. Let's go out. I want to be with you. I want to walk with you. I want us to talk."

Gleason knew perfectly well she could make his life miserable. She could use his infidelity as a weapon to punish him. She stood at a crossroads – be a bitch or be his lover.

"Let's get ice cream."

Bobby exhaled and smiled, reaching for her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They made love again that night, or maybe they had sex – depending on who you asked. They had never sixty-nined before and Bobby loved it. He nearly came in her mouth, pulling out and moving aside at the last second, shooting cum onto her neck and shoulder, into her hair. He wanted to come in her mouth; back in the academy, Madelyn had let him do that; but then, Madelyn let anyone do anything to her – just ask Sledge.

Gleason did not come, however; she didn't like this position, she felt trapped, forced. After he came and crawled off her, he knew she wasn't satisfied, so Bobby fingered her to climax; she was quick and quiet in her orgasm. "Honey, why didn't you come?" he asked her afterward.

"I don't know."

"Wasn't it good?"

"Yes, Bobby, it was good. Please, let it go. It's all right." She turned over and pulled up the sheet, coverlet and her throw. She tried to scoot away from him, but he wrapped himself around her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Morning

Gleason was up and out of bed before Bobby. She washed, dressed and made a big Sunday breakfast. She returned to the bedroom to rouse him. He was asleep on his back, head tilted toward the left in the way he does. His left hand lay on the pillow, open beside his head. The fingertips of his right hand rested on his chest.

She watched him sleep, drawing deep, slow breaths though his partially open lips. His hair was so curly before he brushed it flat each morning. He hadn't shaved since Friday and sported the start of a real beard. He looked so innocent, vulnerable. She loved this man.

Gleason knelt on the floor beside him. Carefully, she slipped her hand under the sheet at his right hip. Slowly, carefully, she felt for him, his crotch was hot and moist. Gently as touching a baby bird, she placed her fingertips on his flaccid length. Even at rest, he was long and thick; her mouth watered. She stroked lightly, barely touching him.

Bobby sighed deeply and moved his hips, opening his legs, but he did not waken. Gleason stared at his face. Ever so lightly, she slid her fingers under his thickness. Bobby's head turned to the right and the fingers of his open hand curled closed. Gleason smiled.

She lifted his cock slightly and it lay across her fingers. Its weight surprised her; she gently stroked the top with her thumb and felt him begin to swell. This was fun.

Bobby shifted again and uttered a quiet moan. He sighed and lengthened more, hardening quickly. Another soft groan issued from his lips. His breathing quickened. Gleason was surprised he hadn't awakened. Of course, he was exhausted from the two calls out and the emotional strain of yesterday's . . . everything.

He was nearly erect and shifted one more time, uttering a long, deep groan, and his hips began to move slightly as though sliding in and out of her. He grunted and his right hand moved slowly down from his chest and then he grabbed her wrist with, "You better be ready to finish what you start!"

Gleason squealed and fell back, laughing. Bobby held tight to her wrist and pulled her toward him. "What are you doing with my goods?" he asked smiling hugely.

"Playing," she answered, returning his smile. "When did you wake up?"

He looked deep into her eyes, saw into her soul and knew they would be all right. "When you first got out of bed," he said softly and then pulled her close and kissed her deeply.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"We should go see your mother today."

"Let's go see her and then stop at that place on the way back."

"What place?"

"You know, that place, where all the little shops are. You know."

"Oh, you mean Churchill? Why do you want to stop there?"

"It will be something to do. I want us to do things, Sweetheart."

Gleason looked at him and saw goodness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hi, Mom."

Mrs. Goren looked up, "Oh, oh, you're here. Bobby, Gleason! Thank God you are here." She struggled to her feet and Bobby was at her elbow in a second. "Come, sit, sit. I have to tell you something."

Bobby arranged the two other chairs and the couple sat. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"Oh, Bobby, it's Christian. Gleason, I am so worried." Frances wrung her hands and Bobby worried about her rising anxiety.

"What about him? Take it easy, Mom, tell me what's wrong."

"He's gone."

Neither Bobby nor Gleason said anything. Finally, Gleason asked, "Why do you say he's gone?"

"Because he's not been around! What a foolish question!" she shot Gleason a dark look, tsk-tsked, and shook her head.

Gleason sat back in surprise and Bobby reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze and said, "When did you talk with him last?"

"I don't know, last week sometime. Say, did they knock me out? Seems there's a gap or something in my mind. Did they?"

"Uh, yeah, Mom, for a day or two."

"Why the hell did you let them do that? Bobby, I need to be awake and aware. These people are sneaky. You need to come and visit more. I wish your brother wasn't so busy. He'd come and look after me. Frank would make sure these people weren't ripping me off." Then, to Gleason she added, "Frank's the smart one, you know, a scientist; busy making medicines and whatnot."

Bobby slouched back in his chair and put the fingers of his right hand over his lips. It was Gleason's turn to squeeze his hand.

The three sat quietly for several minutes. Christian stood by the drapes. He was tired and wanted to lie down, but his daddy and mommy were here. He wished they could see him, hear him. He didn't know what to do to stop from fading more; maybe they could tell him what to do. Slowly he walked to his daddy's side. He wished he could sit on his daddy's lap and his daddy would read to him. Gramma tried to read one of the stories, but she fell asleep. The little boy walked over to the stack of books on the small table and ran his hand over the one on top.

"Have you read any of the books, Mom?" Bobby asked, trying to change the subject.

"Huh? Oh, the books; yeah, I started that Dr. Seuss one you always liked, the one about the fish. I guess I fell asleep or something. I don't know."

"You mentioned you got some books," Gleason said smiling, "which ones?" She stood and retrieved the stack from the table. Christian watched his mommy take them to her chair. "Oh, this one! I remember this one from the convent where they took us from the island. I haven't thought of this book forever!" Her face lit up and she began to read aloud.

Christian listened as his mommy read and crossed to her. He leaned on the arm of her chair and looked up at her face, watching her eyes move across the print, her lips form the words and her voice calmed him. She smelled like that toast Gramma liked, the kind with the white frosting on the top edge. He glanced at his daddy; he was watching her, too. Christian looked over at Gramma – she was watching his mommy as well. Christian looked back up into his mommy's face and he felt safe. She would have loved me, he thought.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	43. Chapter 43

205

Designed Intent

Chapter 43

Sunday

Bobby's eyes filled as he watched and listened as Gleason read aloud. He imagined her reading to their child. She would have been a good mother, he thought; theirs would have been a good family. The disease that cursed Bobby's mother would have spared their child.

Gleason finished reading and looked up at Frances and then over at Bobby and was suddenly embarrassed. No one said anything.

"You'll be a good mother," Frances said softly. "Won't she, Bobby?"

Bobby and Gleason stared at each other; she saw the tears in his eyes and her eyes filled as well.

Bobby's head tilted to the left and said, "Uh, we, we should be going Mom." He sniffed and pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped his eyes and then his nose.

Frances looked at her son and said, "Are you crying? What's wrong? Bobby, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"Nothing, Mom, nothing. We should be going."

"You just got here! Stay, visit with me. I haven't seen you in an age." She looked over at Gleason and caught her wiping away tears. "What's wrong with you two? Why are you crying? Did something happen? Is Frank ok?"

"Frank is fine, Mom!" Bobby spit out, then stood and walked to the door. Gleason stayed in her chair. Again, silence filled the room.

Frances glanced at her son in the same way he steals glances when he's contrite; she said softly, "Bobby, sit down. I want to ask you something. Come over here and sit down."

Bobby's shoulders dropped and he returned to his chair.

"Gleason," the old woman reached for the young woman's hands, "are you pregnant?"

"Jesus Christ, Mom!"

"What? I can ask you that, can't I, Dear? Are you pregnant?"

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Bobby was on his feet again.

"Because I think Christian is your son! You're going to have a little boy, aren't you, Dear? Are you eating all right? Drink orange juice. Folic acid will keep his spine in place. What are you going to name him? Christian?" Frances was excited.

Bobby was beside himself, but before he could respond, Gleason said softly, "No, Mrs. Goren, we're not going to have a baby."

"But you will, you'll have a little boy and you'll name him Christian. Won't you?" Frances looked from Gleason to her son and said, "Right, Bobby? You want to have a little boy, don't you? You'll give me a real grandson. Frank is too busy with his science work to be bothered with children; but you, you and Gleason can have a baby. A boy. Then my Christian will be real."

Christian sat on the floor beside his mommy's chair, his head tilted to the left like his daddy and gramma. Gramma is so mixed up, she doesn't know I was already born and already gone, he thought, poor Gramma. Christian looked at his daddy and mommy and saw the blue sadness that wrapped them both. He also saw his mommy begin to struggle to breathe and he was worried.

"Mrs. Goren, I, I need to use the ladies room. Excuse me, I'll be right back."

"Sure, go on, Dear. You can use my bathroom if you wish." But the tall woman was already at the door.

"I'll be right back, Mom," Bobby said, following Gleason into the hallway.

"Honey!" he called after her. Gleason turned and he saw her arm upright against her chest, "Are you ok?"

Gleason fell against him and sobbed. Bobby enveloped her, "Shush, I know, I know. Shush," he cooed into her hair as she clung to him. "Oh, Baby, don't cry." His own eyes filled and he cried against the top of her head.

Christian stood in the doorway and leaned out, watching his daddy and mommy. They would have loved me, he thought sadly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Evening

"Is this ok for dinner?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, Love, it's fine."

The drive home from Carmel Ridge was long and quiet. They did not stop in Churchill to shop as they had planned. Gleason slept most of the way and Bobby had trouble rousing her after he parked.

"I'll reschedule your appointment with Dr. Creighton," he said. "but maybe you should see someone in Chicago. Honey, I don't think we should wait any longer. Something is wrong with your heart."

"I know. I'll make an appointment with someone." Gleason seemed lethargic. "Bobby, I'm not really hungry, I'm going to go lie down." She stood and headed down the hallway.

Bobby started putting away the food when he heard her fall.

"Gleason?!" he dashed around the kitchen table and saw her in a heap in the bathroom doorway. "Honey?!" Bobby grabbed his phone and dialed 9-1-1.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was coming to just as the EMTs arrived. "Step aside, sir," one of them said to Bobby. The man stooped and told Gleason to stay still.

Bobby spoke with the second EMT, giving all of her information. He had taken her heart pills from her bag and had her birth control pills ready as well; the technician copied the name and dosage of each.

"I am not going anywhere," Bobby heard her say. "Help me up." Gleason got herself into a sitting position and leaned against the bathroom door.

"Honey, you need to go to hospital," Bobby said, heading down the hallway.

"I am not. Help me up, Bobby," Gleason reached up her hand to him, but he didn't take it.

"Sweetheart, Gleason, you're going to the hospital. You passed out for Chrissakes!"

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to remain calm. "I will see a doctor in Chicago this week. I'm just a bit hungry. My sugar dropped. Now help me up, goddamn it!"

"Ma'am, I'm going to test your blood sugar, give me your wrist." The EMT took her wrist and set a small machine, about the size of Bobby's shield, on it. He watched the tiny screen and 78 appeared. "Well, your sugar is a little low. Are you diabetic?"

"No. I just need to eat something and I will be fine. Now someone help me up!"

The EMT stood up and moved out of the way. Bobby took his place, stooping down in front of her, his right hand against her cheek and jaw, his eyes locked onto hers. "Listen to me; you are going to go to the hospital so we can find out what the fuck is wrong with you. Understand?"

Gleason glared at him and said, "I'm going nowhere except to the airport tomorrow morning. Do _you_ understand?"

"Don't make me restrain you."

"Oh for God's sake, Bobby, stop it!" Then, to the EMT standing in the hallway she asked, "I don't have to go if I refuse, right?"

"That's right. However, I think that is a foolish decision; your husband is right, you should go. Your heart rate is dangerously slow; it's steady but slow. Your oh-two level is barely within the low end of normal. And, it seems your tissues are beginning to retain fluid. I'd go if I were you."

"Will it stop? My heart?"

"No-o-o-o," he replied reluctantly, "but it might beat so slowly that your body won't get enough oxygen and you'll pass out again. Really, ma'am, you should come with us."

Gleason knew that if she went to hospital, they would keep her and she had too much to do. On the other hand, she knew she was being foolish not to see to the problem her heart was giving her. She would see a doctor on Monday, she would go to the university clinic, as Malcolm had suggested several weeks ago.

"Bobby, pull me up. Please." He put his hands under her arms and stood, lifting her effortlessly, keeping his left arm around her back, his hand on her waist. "Thank you. I will see a doctor tomorrow when I get back to Evanston. I'll go to the campus clinic as soon as I am settled at the apartment. I swear. All right?"

Red started to seep into the edges of his vision, but just as quickly, it faded. He shook his head and exhaled sharply, wiping his brow with the fingers of his right hand and said softly, "Jesus Christ, Gleason. Why won't you listen to me? Just do this for me. Go to the hospital. Please."

"No," and she jerked out of his arm, stepped beside him and headed down the hall toward the kitchen.

The two EMTs stood by dumbly, looking at Bobby. "So, uh, she's not going with us?" the one asked.

Bobby just shook his head and put up his hands, palm open; then he asked, "What is the likelihood of her passing out again?"

"Well, I can't say. Her heart is beating very slowly; any kind of exertion can compromise her. You say she occasionally has trouble breathing and she has chest pain?"

"Yes, and it seems to be happening more frequently. When she rushes or gets upset."

"What about during sex?"

Bobby looked down and reddened, his hand going to the back of his head, "Uh, yeah, it's happened."

"Well, she should see someone soon."

Bobby wiped his hands over his face and said, "Thanks." The men began to pack up and Bobby went into the kitchen. Gleason was eating cold steamed vegetables from the container.

"Don't be upset with me, Bobby. I will handle this."

He could not even look at her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Within an hour, Gleason developed a slight cough that was more irritating than any thing. She slept fitfully that night. Bobby never did reach deep sleep, he listened to her breathe and thought he heard a weak wheeze.

He gently wrapped himself around her and she seemed to settle. Nevertheless, her cough continued. What is this, he wondered.


	44. Chapter 44

211

Designed Intent

Chapter 44

Monday

Bobby woefully left Gleason at JFK and headed to the office. He needed to be available to head to court to give his testimony in the Bandelli trial. Carver said he would call if he thought Bobby would testify today. Bobby read and re-read the reports and continued to prepare; he had it all memorized, but he read it all again, nonetheless.

His mind kept straying to Gleason. Why will she not take care of herself, he wondered. Jesus. He knew there is no fighting with her about some things. She puts up walls, shuts herself off. She got no help when Clive burned her with the acid. She would not stay in the apartment and ended up shot, nearly dieing. She refused to go with him to counseling. She won't go see what's wrong with her heart. He felt powerless. Does she _want_ to die?

Bobby stood and went to the vending machines.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason arrived at her apartment without incident. She called Bobby from the tarmac at O'Hare as she promised. She would call him again in a minute, once she made some tea. She was exhausted and this cough was making her nuts.

She considered grading the quizzes that she wanted to return tonight. She walked to the cooker to set the kettle to boil but was overcome with fatigue; just take a short nap, she thought.

Gleason went into the bedroom and stripped to panties and undershirt, she climbed into bed and tried to sleep, but the cough was irritating and she had no cough medicine. After half an hour, she got up, redressed and set the kettle to boil. She called Bobby and as she waited for him to pick up, she looked at her hands – her fingers felt tight, swollen. Great, she thought, what is this?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eames went with two uniforms and picked up James Doogan, the rare book counterfeiter. He didn't seem surprised when he opened the door and saw the police, "Why did it take you this long?" he asked.

"Well, you're not the only bad guy we're after," she replied. Alex read him his rights, cuffed him and the two uniforms took him away.

She followed the squad car back downtown, went to the eleventh floor of OPP and started the paperwork.

"Did you get him?" Bobby asked.

"Yes," Eames answered tersely.

Bobby's cell rang and he stood and walked away.

Eames watched him wander away and simmered. Her life sucked right now. She and Sledge were finished. That bastard! Bobby was getting kid-glove treatment again. Damn him! In addition, she was left to tie up loose ends, sweep up the bits, and put everything right. Shit! Eames considered taking some vacation. She had built up several weeks' worth. Go somewhere nice, warm, with a pool, and men. And anonymous sex. Yeah, that sounded pretty good.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hi, Honey. Did you get in ok?"

"Yes," and she coughed a few times.

"Have you gone to the clinic yet?"

"No, Bobby! I just got in," she lied, "give me a chance, won't you?"

"Ok, ok." He didn't mean to harp, but come on. He heard her cough again and caught a definite wheeze. "Glea –, Honey, your coughing is worse and I can hear you wheeze. Gleason, something is really wrong. Go now, will you? Please."

Gleason was hungry; she needed to eat something and wanted to sleep. "I, – _cough, cough_ – will, I will. I want to eat something and then take a nap. Bobby I am so tired." She coughed again.

"Baby, I know you are tired, that is part of what's wrong with you. Tell the doctor about your fatigue, that you passed out at home, that you have trouble breathing and you get a pain in your chest. Jesus Christ, Gleason, so much is wrong with you. You should have gone to the hospital last night."

She coughed and he heard her sniff. "Honey, Gleason?" She didn't answer and then he heard her cough, wheeze and knew she was crying. "Baby, are you all right? Glea –?"

The fatigue made her cry; she could not believe how tired she was. The tears stopped as quickly as they came. "I have to go, Bobby. I need to – _cough_ – eat something and then I'll go to the clinic. I promise." She dragged a huge breath, exhaled and the wheeze sounded wet. "Ok? I'll call you after I talk with the doctor. I'll – _cough, cough_ – call you."

Bobby had never felt such dread. He wasn't sure she would make it to the clinic. "Gleason, drive to the clinic. Park there; don't park in your usual lot and walk over, drive to the clinic and then go home. Cancel your class tonight."

She coughed and then answered, "I'm not going to cancel my class, Bobby. – _cough_ – I'll drive to the clinic and depending on the time, I'll either – _cough_ – come home or go to the office. – _cough, cough, cough_."

"Call me after you see the doctor, all right? Promise?"

"Yes, yes." She sounded so tired, so weak.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. I have to go, Love. I'll talk with you in a bit."

"Bye." Bobby flipped shut his phone and ran his hand down the back of his head. She did not sound good. He hadn't sent up a prayer of request in a long time. He did so now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason hung up and just sat, then stood when the kettle began to sound. She prepared the tea, put bread in the toaster, ate a few grapes on the way to becoming raisins, tossed the rest in the bin and poured a glass of orange juice.

The juice was wonderful, no wonder Bobby loves orange juice, she thought. The toast popped and she slathered it with butter and the orange marmalade she kept for him when he came to Evanston. After she finished two cups of tea and the toast, she considered whether to head to the clinic or take a nap. It was still very early. She could sneak a nap and then head to the clinic, then go straight to the office and grade those papers before class. Gleason headed toward the bedroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did Carver call while I was on the phone?" Bobby asked as he sat down.

"No."

Bobby stared at her. "You ok?"

"I'm fine. Just dandy," she answered without looking at him.

Bobby glanced over to Sledge's desk and saw that he wasn't there. Bishop was on the phone and writing. "Where's Sledge?"

Eames, stopped dead and said, "Why would you think that I'd know or care?" She stood, took her cup and headed off.

Bobby's eyebrows shot up and his eyes returned to the stack of Bandelli files. His mind returned to Gleason.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday afternoon

"I don't think you'll be called today, Detective, perhaps tomorrow afternoon. The way things are going, you'll be on the stand several days. This is going very slowly. The defense is really taking their time."

"Ok, I'll be here. Thanks."

Bobby sat and considered what to do. He would go get some lunch; in fact, he would ask Eames if she wanted to go, too. He stood and went to find her.

"Hey."

She looked up from the printer and said nothing.

"Uh, I was wondering, do you want to go get some lunch? Carver said I won't be called today, so . . . I have the rest of the afternoon."

Eames knew her partner was trying to be nice, but she had so much to do. However, it would be good to get out. "Ok, thanks."

Bobby nodded and together they headed toward their desks.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason slept all afternoon and woke coughing and having to pee. She felt terrible – her head ached and she felt like she weighed a ton. Her hands felt funny and she saw that her fingers looked like sausages. She coughed and had to head to the bathroom before she wet the bed.

She finished and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. My God! Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks looked fuller. What is going on? she wondered. After washing and brushing her teeth, Gleason returned to the bedroom and was shocked at the time. She had barely enough time to get dressed and head to class. Damn! She wanted to go to the clinic. First thing after tomorrow morning's class, she told herself.

She had to wear her tennis shoes as her feet were swollen and she couldn't get them into her loafers. This isn't good, she said to herself. She didn't rush, as she knew what would ensue. Gleason gathered her things and walked to the car, drove to the university, parked in her spot and walked straight to her class.

She kept them less than an hour, claiming her cough as the reason, then she sat in a seat in the first row with her head in her hand. After a few long minutes, she stood and gathered her things. She wanted to go home and go back to bed; then her cell rang in her bag. Bobby! She had told him she would call after her trip to the clinic. She dug it out and checked the screen. It wasn't Bobby.

"Gleason? Are you all right?"

"Malcolm."

"Lass, are you ok? What's wrong? One of your students called me and said that you let everyone go early, that you weren't feeling well. Where are you?"

A student had called Malcolm? "I'm ok, Malcolm."

"Why did you let your class go early?"

"I have a nasty cough and am very tired, that's all. I think I'm coming down with something."

Malcolm heard her cough and wheeze. "You don't sound good. Do you want me to drive you home?" He knew she wouldn't.

"No, no. Thank you, though." She coughed and wheezed wetly. "I'm going to go to the clinic after my morning class tomorrow. I need to see what's wrong."

Malcolm wanted to go to her, but he had promised Maeve that they would to a program at Gus's school. "I'll go with you."

"You can't, you have class at that time. I'll go and get a prescription or something."

He wanted to say more, he wanted to be with her, he wanted her. "All right," he said reluctantly, "I'll see how you are after class tomorrow. You take care."

"I will. Thank you, Malcolm."

Gleason ended the call and it immediately rang.

"Hello?"

"Jesus Christ, Gleason! I have been worried out of my mind! Why didn't you call me? Are you all right? What did the doctor say?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby and Gleason argued on the phone. He was furious with her and she was exhausted. Gleason said barely ten words while Bobby screamed at her; she did not tell him about her fingers, feet, eyes and face swelling up. She knew he was frustrated and worried, and that he loved her. She also knew that she had been wrong not to see a doctor before this and not to go to hospital last night; and, she didn't give a shit. She listened to him holler, listened to him apologize, said goodnight and drove home. She went straight to bed and went to sleep.

Bobby, however, was still angry, still worried. He desperately wanted a beer, or better. However, he settled for a glass of milk. Bobby got online and researched chest pain, shortness of breath, coughing and wheezing and found out that it could be anything. Eventually, Bobby went to bed and thought of her, continuing to worry.


	45. Chapter 45

217

Designed Intent

Chapter 45

Tuesday Noon

Bobby was preparing to head over to the courthouse as Carver asked to meet him there at half past noon when his cell rang. He expected to hear from Gleason as she had promised to go to the clinic after her first class.

"Goren."

"Detective Goren?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Detective Goren, this is Malcolm Conway."

"What do you want?"

The silence said everything.

"Malcolm . . . is Gleason all right?"

"She's in hospital, her heart. She didn't show up for class this morning and didn't answer her phone. I went to her apartment to see if she was ok, and found her on the floor in the kitchen. She was still in her nightgown. A bottle of pills was spilt on the floor and a glass was broken."

Malcolm might as well have kicked him square in the solar plexus, Bobby couldn't breathe for a moment and then he whispered, "How is she?"

"They've stabilized her and are running tests."

"What did they say? Can I talk to her?"

"I don't know anything. I followed the ambulance and was with her in the ER. They worked on her there for a bit and then took her away. She, she was very swollen, her eyes, feet and hands. Her lips were blue when I found her. She was barely breathing and was cold."

"Jesus. Where is she, what hospital?"

"She's at Pullman Memorial. I've got the number if you want to call."

"Yeah, thanks." Bobby wrote the number. "Uh, Malcolm, thanks. Thanks for checking on her."

"Sure. Bye."

"Bye." Bobby wiped his face and looked up at Eames.

"Is Gleason all right?" He ignored her, grabbed the sheet of paper with the number he had written, stood and turned, already dialing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The phone rang five times before anyone answered it.

"Uh, hello. May I speak with Gleason Wintermantle?"

"I'm sorry, sir, there is no patient in this room at this time; she's having tests."

"What? Where, who can I talk to find out where she is, how she is?"

"You'll have to dial into the main desk and they can redirect your call to the nurses' station."

"Wait, wait! Don't hang up! I, I don't have that number. Can you transfer me?"

"I can't do that from this phone."

"Well, I need to speak with her. Who can I talk with to find out how she is?"

"Oh, hang on, here, talk with this nurse."

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Detective Robert Goren of the NYPD. I need to know where Gleason Wintermantle is. I need to speak with her."

"You're who? With what?"

Bobby closed his eyes and tried to count to ten, he got as far as six. "Listen, I need to speak with Gleason Wintermantle, or her doctor. I need to know what has happened to her."

He could hear the other person considering what to do, what to say. "I am her nurse. What do you want to know? Are you family?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Yes, family, I'm family." This wasn't exactly true yet, but it would be soon. "How is she? What happened? Is she going to be all right?"

"Let me get her chart here, a minute. Ok, here we go – Ms Wintermantle presented via ambulance in the ER mid morning today unconscious with a nearly negligible pulse. She was swollen, blue and cold. En route, she received a minimal dose atropine injection to increase her heart rate. Initial diagnosis upon examination in the ER was bradycardia and congestive heart failure secondary to pulmonary edema; she admitted to the coronary care unit. She is stable at present and is currently having tests to establish diagnosis and determine prognosis and subsequent course of treatment. She will not be back to her room for at least an hour."

Bobby listened intently. "Who is her doctor?"

"That would be Dr. Chavez."

"When can I talk with him? Would he want to talk with her heart doctor here in New York?"

"Perhaps; mention that when you speak with Dr. Chaves."

"When can I talk with him?"

"I'll let Dr. Chavez know that you called and that you would like to speak with her. She will return your call at her convenience. Where can she reach you? Would you spell your name for me, please?"

Bobby gave her the requested information and then said, "Thank you. Thank you. I'll, I'll call back in an hour. Thank you."

"Shall I tell Ms Wintermantle you called?"

"Yes, yes, please tell her Bobby called. Thanks again."

He clicked off, walked back to his desk, and dropped into his chair. Eames looked at him and asked, "Is she all right? What happened?"

"Uh, I need to see the Captain." He pushed up from his desk again and walked toward Deakins' office.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Do you have a minute?"

"Sure. What's up?"

Bobby entered and shut the door. Deakins looked at the man and knew it wasn't good, whatever it was; he set down his pen and asked, "What's happened?"

Bobby sat and put his head in his hands and then looked up. "Gleason is in the hospital in Chicago – her heart. I, I need to go to her. I need to be there. I need to take some time." He knew he had no usable time left. Their current case was on the cusp of closing, he and Eames had the paperwork from the last case to complete, and he was due to testify in court some point, probably this afternoon; this was the absolute worse time to leave. He did not want to have to plead.

"What happened?"

Bobby told Deakins everything Malcolm and the nurse had told him. Deakins listened knowing he could not let his best detective go to Chicago – Bobby needed to testify. The brass upstairs would never approve the time away. The solve rate was improving steadily and they wanted it to continue. No, he couldn't let his detective go.

"Bobby, wait and talk with Gleason. See how she sounds. Talk with her doctors. Get the facts before you do anything."

Bobby stood and looked steadily at his boss. "You're not going to let me go, are you?" he said darkly. "Son of a bitch! If this was your wife, your daughter, you'd be on a plane in a heart beat, no questions asked."

"That's not fair, Bobby, and you know it. I'm just saying talk with her. Talk with her doctors."

Bobby two-stepped and paced in a circle; he couldn't stand still. His left hand traveled over his head and down his neck. He turned, gestured and said, "I'm going to Chicago. Fire me if you have to, but I'm going to be with Gleason. She needs me." He turned and reached for the door.

"Detective, you are going nowhere; not yet, anyway. Go and call her doctor. Get some facts." Bobby stopped and turned slowly. "Bobby, you are panicked right now. Think this through. You need to speak with her before you do anything. Listen to me."

Bobby stopped with his hand on the door. He knew Deakins was right, but it was her _heart_. Her heart had not been right since the shooting. The first prescription had not worked and her heart had nearly stopped during the miscarriage. This new medication seemed to be fine until now. What had happened? He just wanted to know that she was going to be all right.

"Do you have the name of her doctor? Phone numbers?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Deakins came around his desk and said, "Look, you're scheduled to testify this afternoon. Go, get it done, then talk with her doctor, talk with Gleason. Let's get a better sense of how she is. Meanwhile, I'll see what upstairs says. Then we'll know how to proceed."

Bobby had never felt so powerless; he knew the Captain was right. Bobby nodded and returned to his desk then headed to the courthouse. He explained to Carver what had happened and Carver said he would do what he could. Carver did not tell Bobby there was little he could do about anything.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hi, Sweet. How do you feel?" he whispered as her eyes opened.

Gleason moaned softly and licked her lips. Her eyes flickered and she shifted her legs. She could not focus on the face before her. "Bobby?" she breathed.

He didn't answer, but took her hand, bent and softly kissed her forehead. "It's me, Malcolm."

"Where's Bobby?" she whispered and coughed.

"Excuse me sir, I need to see how she is. Please step outside," the nurse demanded as she swept into the room.

Malcolm left and stood in the hallway. I should call Goren, he thought; tell him she's awake. I should call him. I should. I will. Later.

After a few minutes, the nurse emerged and said, "You can go in, now. She's going to be sleepy. I'll be back in ten minutes." Malcolm nodded and walked back into the room.

"Where is Bobby?" Gleason asked again and coughed.

"He's still in New York. I'm here, Gleason. I'll look after you."

Gleason moved her head from side to side. "Why isn't he here? Is he ok?" she spoke in a whisper.

"Gleason, he's in New York. He's ok, he's in New York."

"I want Bobby." Her face crumpled and she began to cry. The monitor attached to her heart began to beep faster. She coughed and moaned. Her legs drew up and she coughed again.

"Gleason, don't cry. He's coming. He said he'll be here as soon as he can. Don't cry, Sweet. Shush."

The nurse was back in a dash, "What's wrong here? Gleason? Gleason, let's sit up, dear. Stop crying. Why is she crying? Are you in pain? Calm down. You better step out again, sir."

"Is she going to be all right?"

"Please step out. I need help in here!"

Malcolm watched as two nurses hurried into her room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	46. Chapter 46

222

Designed Intent

Chapter 46

Tuesday Afternoon

Bobby stood as Carver exited the courtroom doors. "Detective, the judge has adjourned for today. I am sorry you wasted the entire afternoon here. Have you heard anything about Ms Wintermantle?"

"No. Do you think I'll be called tomorrow morning?" He was anxious to get this done and get to Chicago.

Carver was reluctant to say anything. The proceedings were going slowly. The mob had deep pockets when it came to defending one of their own. The defense team picked at every thread, leaving nothing untouched. Carver feared it would be another day or two before Goren was called. "It's hard to say. Hopefully, you go first thing tomorrow morning and then you're free to go; if the Captain approves your time away, of course."

Bobby nodded and turned, then turned back and said, "I'll, uh, I'll come straight here tomorrow."

Carver nodded and the men separated, both heading to OPP.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby sat in his car in the courthouse parking lot and called the number Malcolm had given him. It rang three times.

"Hello." She sounded so weak. Her voice was breathy and quivery.

"Gleason, Honey it's me. Are you ok?" He was relieved and frightened.

"I'm ok." She stopped and he could hear her breathe.

"Gleason –," he didn't know what to say. She sounded so weak. "Honey, I'm so worried about you. What does your doctor say? She won't call me back. . ."

"I'm ok. I'm just really tired. It's a little hard to breathe." He heard her cough. Jesus.

"Honey, I'm coming to see you."

"No, no. Bobby. Don't come here. I'm fine. I'll be fine. Stay, stay in New York." She coughed again. He heard her breathe and wheeze. Then he heard another voice in the room speak to her and heard the phone pass to the other person.

"Hello, this is Dr. Chavez. Who is this?"

"Dr. Chavez, this is Robert Goren. How is –,"

"Are you a family member, Mr. Goren?"

"Uh, uh, yes. Is she –,"

"What is your relationship to this patient?"

Bobby was stunned. "I want to know what the hell is wrong with her! Let me speak with her. Now!"

The phone passed back and Gleason whispered, "Bobby –,"

"Gleason, tell that goddamn woman that it is ok to talk to me! Tell her!" He heard Gleason say something away from the phone. The phone passed again.

"Mr. Goren, what do you want to know?"

Bobby wiped his face with his right hand and had to count again. This time, he got to four. "Is she going to be all right?" he asked steadily.

"Apparently, the patch that mended the tear in her aorta when she was shot has detached in one place. That occasionally happens with that type of patch. It is relatively new and is about eighty percent effective. In any case, that opening allowed a slow bleed, which has increased over time. She has been bleeding internally for several weeks, perhaps even months, significantly dropping her blood count. Her entire heart muscle has been compromised. She will need surgery."

"Surgery? What kind of surgery? When will that happen?"

"She is scheduled for the day after tomorrow." _The day after tomorrow? _– he will still need to be available to testify on Thursday. "Her diminished heart rate has slowed her body's disposal of bodily fluids. She has pulmonary edema, which is contributing to her breathing difficulty and causing her congestive heart failure.

"We need to reduce the swelling and ease her breathing before it is safe to operate. We have a few more tests to run and we want to give her heart a chance to rest. Depending on the severity of the tear, we may just cauterize the opening. She will probably receive a pacemaker as well to help control her bradycardia. The procedure should take less than four hours without any surprises. She will be in recovery for at least another four hours and then will be in intensive care for a day, perhaps more if needed."

"What's the recovery time?"

"Well, she's relatively young and in pretty good health, so two to four, maybe five weeks at the most. Initially upon release, she will need to have someone with her, she cannot be left alone; after two or three days she'll be able to stay by herself. In addition, she will need weekly follow-up visits. I understand that you live in New York and she lives here?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Well, like I said, either you or someone will need to stay with her here for a few days. It will be a week before she can fly if she is going to stay with you in New York. You two will have to work that out. I'll recommend a colleague in New York for her to see if she goes home with you."

"Thank you. Thank you for speaking with me. Uh, let me speak with Gleason. Thank you, Dr. Chavez."

The phone passed one more time.

"Honey, I, I love you. How do you feel?"

Gleason didn't say anything.

"Honey? Are you ok? Gleason? Talk to me, Sweetheart. Gleason?" His anxiety shot through the roof.

He heard her sniff and then she whispered, "Bobby, I don't want to have surgery again. Don't let them do it." She cried in earnest.

"Honey, _why_? Gleason you need to have that patch repaired. They're going to give you a pacemaker to keep your heart regular. Why don't you want to have it done?" He heard her cry softly and then cough, "Gleason?"

She was breathing heavily, "I, oh, Bobby, I, I don't want to go through that again. Don't let them. Promise you won't let them." She cried harder and then began to cough harder. He heard her gasp.

"Gleason! Honey! Gleason, calm down. Honey, it's ok, calm down." He heard an alarm sound, hurried voices and then a click and dial tone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Detective, I am sorry, but you are under a court order to be available to testify for the prosecution. You can go nowhere." Carver understood Goren's panic, but he had no choice.

Bobby had returned to the office and found Carver in Deakins' office. He explained to the ADA and the Captain about Gleason's impending surgery. He also told them he was flying to Chicago in the morning and would not be back until Gleason was well.

"I am going to be with her and I'm leaving in the morning." He turned to leave.

"Detective, stop!" Deakins shouted. "Bobby, I'm with Carver on this. You have to be available to testify. The judge may call a mistrial if you do not testify; or, the defense can use your lack of appearance against us and sway the jury. Too much is riding on your availability. I'm sorry Bobby, you cannot go."

Bobby had never felt anger like this. He literally shook. He forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply. Bobby pulled open the door so hard that it slammed against the wall. He strode through and went to his desk.

Eames watched him sit with his head in his hands. She didn't say anything, knowing he was explosive right now.

"Eames, my office," Deakins called. She turned, stood and crossed to the boss's office.

"Shut the door." She did and then sat. Carver stood to the side. Deakins leaned against the front of his desk.

"Has Bobby told you what's happened to Gleason?"

"No. Is she all right?"

Deakins explained everything to Bobby's partner. "He wants to be with her, and he should be, except that he is scheduled to testify at the Bandelli trial. He needs to be available for the next three days. Alex, do you feel confident to testify in his place if you had to?"

Eames had barely been around during the final phases of the Bandelli case. Her father had had a mild heart attack and she took a few weeks off to help look after him and her mother. Perkins had stepped in and worked with Bobby on closing the case and completing the paperwork.

She looked at the Captain and Carver. "I, I don't know. I wasn't there when the case closed. Perkins and Bobby did it. Perkins did the lion's share of the report, Bobby pretty much dictated as I understand."

"Is that a 'no'?" Carver asked.

"If the defense knows that I wasn't involved in the close, they'll grill me with information I don't have and couldn't testify to. That alone will punch holes in my testimony. I would be doing more harm than good. I'm not sure I can do what you're asking." She looked from one man to the other. "What about putting Perkins on the stand instead of me? At lease he was there, he would have all the pertinent information."

William Perkins was a nice guy and an excellent detective, but he was no good on the stand. He had testified twice in the past and had screwed up basic details that turned both cases the wrong way. He lacked confidence at trial. No, Perkins was going nowhere near a courtroom.

Neither man said anything for a long minute. "All right, Detective, thank you," Carver said. Eames rose and returned to her desk.

Bobby watched his partner cross from the captain's office. "They want you to testify, don't they?" he asked as she sat.

"Yes."

"Will you do that for me?" He looked at her with pleading.

Alex looked at him and then had to look away. He knew. Bobby shot up and crossed to Deakins office. He pushed open the door, and said menacingly, "I'll testify at your goddamn trial."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	47. Chapter 47

228

Designed Intent

Chapter 47

Thursday Morning

Bobby had spoken with Gleason this morning and she sounded better. The pulmonary edema eased as soon as her body was rid of the fluid, so her swelling and cough were gone. She was prepped and ready for surgery. They were waiting for her surgeon to finish with an earlier emergency.

They spoke of their love for each other and he apologized profusely for not being there with her. She understood, of course; but she did not admit to Bobby that she was comforted knowing that Malcolm was there.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday Noon

"Robert, it's Malcolm."

"Is she ok?"

"They just took her in. Dr. Manlowe and I are here. We'll keep you posted as we learn anything. Do you have any idea as to when you will get here?"

"No. I'm still waiting to testify. As soon as I'm done, I'm heading straight to JFK. I'll take a cab to the hospital. If I testify today, I should be there tonight."

"Ok. We'll let you know how she does."

"Thanks, Malcolm."

"Aye. Bye."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday Afternoon

Bobby waited, waited and waited some more. Court recessed for a short break and Carver found him in the hallway and said, "This is going more slowly than I ever imagined."

"Do you think I'll testify today? They took her in about ninety minutes ago. I need to get to her, Counselor."

"I know, Detective, I know, and I am sorry this is not going more quickly."

Bobby thought he would lose his mind. He wiped his face with his hands and paced in a circle.

"Detective, it will probably be tomorrow before you take the stand. I am sorry."

Bobby's fingers went to his lips and he shut his eyes, he did not trust himself to say anything. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and said, "I need to stay here just in case, don't I?"

"Yes."

"Ok. Ok." Bobby returned to the hard bench where he had waited the entire morning. His gut burned, and a headache began to build behind his eyes. Bobby forced himself to think of nothing. Dr. Stephens had told him to try to make his mind blank when he felt totally out of control of a situation. He and Dr. Stephens did not meet yesterday, as he needed to be at the courthouse.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I am surprised that gentleman friend of Gleason's isn't here," Dr. Manlowe mentioned to Malcolm.

"He needs to testify in a trial."

"I see. Still, I am surprised he did not arrange to be here with his lady. Surgery is a treacherous endeavor, especially concerning the heart." Manlowe thought a minute and then continued, "Gleason is a fine, strong young woman, however. She will be fine." Manlowe looked over at the tall professor beside him. "How are you and Maeve getting on? Still separated?"

Malcolm knew perfectly well what the old codger was thinking, "We're still separated."

"I see. Well, things work out the way they are supposed to, I have always maintained. Our Dr. Wintermantle will need some looking after while she is on the mend. Hope that policeman fellow of hers can get up here to see to her." The two men were quiet a moment, then Manlowe added, "Or, someone else will need to take care of her." He glanced over at the younger man and Malcolm ignored him.

Dr. Manlowe left after two hours. He apologized and explained he had a meeting with the Provost.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday Evening

Bobby dialed Malcolm's number.

"Hello."

"Malcolm, how is she?"

"They just took her into recovery. Everything is fine."

Bobby's eyes slammed shut and he hitched a sob. Thank you, God, thank you. "Uh, that's good, that's good." Bobby had to wait a moment before he could talk with a steady voice.

Malcolm knew the other man was crying and waited, not sure what to say; then, "They cauterized the leak and she has a pacemaker. They made a very small incision, about three inches. Dr. Chavez said Gleason should recover completely. She is going to be better for this." Malcolm wondered who he was trying to convince, Gleason's lover or himself. Both men loved this woman. One more than the other and each for very different reasons, but they both loved her, nonetheless. Neither man could say anything for a moment.

Malcolm spoke first, "We've got her classes covered, so that's not a worry. And she can pull from the sick day bank as she really has none built up yet; it's not a problem, she can take as much time as she needs."

"Thanks for seeing to all of that."

"Well, Dr. Manlowe took care of it. He was happy to have something to do."

They were silent again.

Again, Malcolm spoke first, "I'll stay until she comes out of recovery, I'll probably stay for a while tonight as well. She won't be allowed to take any calls tonight; it will be mid-morning tomorrow before she can speak on the phone. I'll call you later and let you know how she is."

"Thanks, Malcolm."

"Not a problem."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late Thursday Night

Gleason returned to her room from the ICU earlier than expected. Once the nurses had her settled, Malcolm stood by her side, just looking at her. She opened her eyes and moved her head back to look at him clearly.

"Malcolm?" she whispered.

"Aye, Lass, 'tis me." He put his hand against her cheek in much the same way Bobby does. "How do you feel?

"Where's Bobby? Is he here?"

Malcolm didn't want to talk about Robert; he wanted Gleason to be happy to see him. "Here, Sweet, have a drink, eh?" He poured a bit of water into the cup and offered it to her.

She turned her head away and said, "Is he coming? Why isn't he here?" Gleason began to cry softly.

"Love, he's still in New York. He has to testify in that big trial. He's called several times asking about you. He's worried and glad you are out of surgery." Malcolm didn't want to say anything else about the other man. "I've been here all day; I have been with you the whole time." He reached for her hand. "Don't cry, Love. I'm here. I'll look after you."

She looked back at him, and knew he was good to stay with her, but she wanted Bobby. "Malcolm, I want to see Bobby. When is he coming?"

"He's not coming for a few days, Love. He needs to be in New York. I'm here, Gleason, I'm here." His heart was bursting and breaking at the same time.

"I need Bobby. Can I call him?" Gleason's crying increased and she began to cough; the alarm attached to her heart went wild. At the same moment, Malcolm's phone rang, nurses dashed in and he into the hall to answer the call.

"Malcolm? Did I wake you?"

"No, Robert, I'm in her room."

"How is she?"

"Uh, she's awake. The nurses are looking after her at the moment."

"Is she ok?"

"She asked for you and got upset when I told her you were still in New York. She started to cry and then cough and her heart acted up. They're trying to get her settled now."

Bobby felt sick to his stomach. Jesus, he needed to be there. His eyes shut tight and he squeezed them with his fingers. The lump in his throat made it hard to swallow and breathe. Neither man said anything.

"I'll call you and she can talk to you when they are done. She'd like that, I think. Is that ok with you?"

Bobby shuddered a sigh and cleared his throat. "Are they still working on her? Can you tell what happened?"

"No, they threw me out when she got upset. Wait, hang on –," Bobby heard Malcolm talk with someone, but he could not make out the words. "The nurse said they've had to sedate her and she'll be asleep the rest of the night." He listened to Bobby issue a soft, sad groan. "I'll stay with her for awhile. Do you want me to call you later?"

Bobby sniffed and said weakly, "No, Malcolm, no, that's ok. Call if anything happens, though."

"Ok, then. I'll talk with you tomorrow. Gleason will be stronger tomorrow. She'll talk with you then. Try to get some sleep. Hopefully you'll testify tomorrow and be here tomorrow night."

"Malcolm thanks for keeping me posted."

"Aye, get some sleep now."

Both men clicked off and Malcolm returned to her side.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malcolm sat most of the night in Gleason's dark room. Nurses came and went, checking her, recording information, asking if he needed anything. He must have fallen asleep in the chair because his neck hurt when he straightened up. Two nurses were fussing over Gleason and he heard her cough and then moan.

"Is she all right?" he asked.

"She's fine, just waking up a little earlier than we expected. Gleason? Gleason, dear, we're going to pull you up a bit so you can breathe easier. Ready? On three."

The nurses hoisted Gleason to a sitting position and propped her up with pillows behind and beside her. She took a sip of water and leaned back with her eyes closed. The nurses left and Malcolm moved to her side.

He thought she had fallen asleep again. God she is beautiful, he thought. I love this woman. I could make her love me, I could. But she won't, she loves that cop. He loves her all right. Malcolm smoothed her hair away from her forehead, leaned in, and softly kissed her lips.

"I love you," she whispered sleepily, eyes still closed.

"I love you, too, Sweet," he answered, knowing full well she thought he was that cop.

Gleason sighed and was asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Early Friday Morning

Maeve looked over her shoulder when she felt the bed dip as Malcolm lay down.

"Is she ok?" she asked.

"Aye, she came through all right. They repaired the patch and she has a pacemaker." He lay on his left side and embraced her. She felt warm, soft. He began to stiffen.

"Is her boyfriend ever going to show up?"

Malcolm nuzzled his wife's neck; God she smelled nice. "Huh uh," he kissed her shoulder and slipped his hand under her arm to cup her breast. He shifted to ease his lengthening member.

Maeve liked what he was doing. She missed this; she missed him.

"You feel so good," he mumbled into her neck, under her ear.

Malcolm made love to his wife; but in his mind's eye, it wasn't Maeve.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	48. Chapter 48

233

Designed Intent

Chapter 48

Friday Morning

"Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

"Please state your name for the record."

"Robert Goren."

"Be seated."

And so began Bobby's testimony. He was on the stand the entire morning. At the break for lunch, he called Gleason's room.

"Honey?"

"No, uh, it's Malcolm."

"Where is she? Is she all right?"

"Aye, they took her for an x-ray, she should be back any minute. Have you testified yet?"

"Is she ok?"

"Yes, yes. She slept well after they calmed her down last night and she had a bite to eat at breakfast. We even went for a short walk in the hallway. She's doing well."

Bobby sighed with relief. He had called the nurses' station at five that morning to see how she was. "Good, good. I, uh, I was on the stand all morning and will continue this afternoon. I hope this is it. It's going very slowly.

"I have a ticket for a flight at six that gets into O'Hare at six-thirty your time. I should be at the hospital by seven. I'll stay with her tonight. Any word on when she'll be released?"

"I asked and they said the earliest would be Sunday. Willow Cheswick, a colleague of ours, said she'll take care of Gleason if need be and we've lined up a few grad students who will fill in whilst Willow is at class. How long will you be able to stay?"

"I hope until she is well. I'll need to find out about that."

"Oh, here's our lass! Gleason, it's Robert on the phone."

Bobby did not like his use of '_our_ lass.' He waited anxiously to speak with her. He heard rustling and voices and then the phone passed to her.

"Bobby?"

"Oh, God is it good to hear your voice. How do you feel, Sweetheart?"

"I'm ok. Actually, I feel better than I have in a long time. I guess I had a leak in that patch. And I have a pacemaker now."

"I know, Honey. You sound so much better."

"When are you coming to see me? I want to see you, Love." She fought tears.

"Tonight, Sweetheart, I'll be there tonight, I'll be there by seven."

"Can you stay with me? Will you stay with me when I'm released?"

He wanted to say yes, he wanted to stay with her forever, he wanted to keep her safe; but, he said, "I, I need to talk with Deakins and Carver about that, Sweetheart. I'll be there tonight. In a few hours, I'll be with you in a few hours."

Gleason was disappointed, but realistic, "Seven o'clock. Ok. You'll be here tonight. That's good. I can't wait to see you, Love."

"Me, too."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby returned to the stand for the rest of the afternoon. At three o'clock, the judge recessed until nine o'clock Monday morning when Bobby would return to the stand.

He and Carver spoke briefly, Carver reminding him he needed to be available Monday morning.

"I'll be here. Look, I need to get to JFK, there's a Chicago flight at four-thirty I'm going to try and get."

"Good luck, Detective. Give Gleason my best."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Early Friday Evening

Bobby stepped through the doorway to Gleason's room and stopped as he watched Malcolm stroke his woman's face. Gleason appeared to be asleep. Malcolm bent and kissed her lightly on the lips and she turned her head, opened her eyes and saw Bobby.

"Bobby! You're early!" Her joy was clear.

Malcolm straightened and stepped away from her bed. Bobby kept his eyes on the other man as he entered and Malcolm retreated. He was to her bed in five steps and finally looked at her. "Honey, how are you?"

"Oh, Bobby, I am so glad you are here," she whispered. She reached for his face and he bent to kiss her. He meant to kiss her gently, lightly; but, his hand went to her neck, his thumb on her jaw and his kiss intensified. His mouth opened and his tongue sought hers and he felt himself fill. He forced himself to pull back and took her hand, running his thumb over the back.

"I need to speak with you in the hall, Malcolm." Then, to Gleason, "Honey, I'll be right back."

Malcolm turned from the window where he had retreated after Bobby entered. He crossed to Gleason's bed and moved to touch her when Bobby said harshly, "Now. Let's go."

Malcolm withdrew his hand and nodded to Gleason. "Thank you, Malcolm," she said softly with a smile.

Bobby squeezed her hand, turned and followed Malcolm into the hall. They stood to the side of her door, facing each other; Bobby stood just a bit taller than the other man did.

"I want to thank you for finding her and for staying with her during her surgery. For looking after her while I was stuck in New York. For keeping me posted." Bobby said all of this with deepest sincerity. He stuck out his hand and Malcolm took it with surprise.

His surprise deepened when the handshake intensified into a vise-like grip and Bobby leaned into the other man and whispered darkly, "I swear to God, if I ever – _ever_ – find you sniffing around her again, I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me?"

Malcolm understood, but the taller man did not intimidate him. "What are you going to do, Detective, all the way from New York? You couldn't even be here when she needed you the most. Gleason is probably alive because I was 'sniffing around,' as you say. I think Gleason can make up her own mind." Malcolm removed his hand from Bobby's grasp and continued, "Enjoy your short stay, Detective." He turned and walked away.

Bobby watched the other man leave and then wiped his face with his hands. His head pounded, his gut burned and his heart ached. He returned to Gleason's bedside. "Sweetheart, how are you?" He kissed her softly and smoothed hair from her face, his hand lingering against her face.

She leaned into his palm and closed her eyes. "I'm ok. How are you, Love? I've missed you so much, Bobby."

He took her hand, raised it, and kissed it. "I am fine. What does your doctor say? When can you go home?"

At that a nurse entered and said, "How are you feeling, Dr. Wintermantle?"

Gleason smiled and said, "Oh, much better, my love is here now." She smiled up at Bobby and he glanced at the nurse and then back at Gleason.

Oh really, thought the nurse, then who is that other fellow who has been here the whole time? The nurse looked from Gleason and then back to Bobby. She could see how much this man loved this woman – he hovered without hovering and he looked into her soul while looking into her eyes,

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday Morning

Bobby stayed with Gleason through the night. After she had breakfast and they took a short walk in the hall, he said, "Honey, I'm going to go to the apartment, get cleaned up and change. Then I'll be back."

"Ok, Love. Get something to eat as well. I'm not sure what I have, but stop and get something."

He did not want to leave her, but he needed to shower and change. Early in their commuting relationship, Gleason had made sure that he had several changes of clothes and toiletries at the Evanston apartment so he could travel without luggage. In the same way, Gleason had things at their apartment in New York.

"I will, I won't be long, though." He kissed her softly, squeezed her hand and left.

Not ten minutes later, in walked Willow Cheswick and Malcolm.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby let himself into the apartment and went straight to the kitchen. He noticed that the broken glass Malcolm had mentioned had been swept up. He looked in the fridge, found an apple, took a bite, and then headed to the bedroom when there was a knock at the door.

"Hi, how is she?" Gladys, the estate manager asked when Bobby opened the door.

"She'll be ok. She's doing much better already."

Gladys was visibly relieved, "Thank God. What happened anyway?"

Bobby explained everything standing at the door; this woman gave him the creeps. "Did you sweep up the broken glass?" he asked her.

"Yeah, I let myself in and saw the glass and didn't want her to cut herself." Gladys looked like she was going to cry. "If she needs anything, you let me know. I can look after her when she comes home – I mean, unless you are going to be here."

"Uh, yeah, I think we have that covered. Thanks, though."

The two stood for an uncomfortable moment and then Gladys said, "Ok, so, I'm relieved she's gonna be ok. She's a real special lady, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. Thanks for cleaning up the glass and for offering to help."

Gladys nodded and then asked, "When's she coming home, do you know?"

"The doctor isn't real sure yet," he lied. "I, uh, I need to get changed and get back to the hospital. Thanks again." He stepped back and shut the door. Bobby was uneasy knowing the estate manager could let herself in at anytime. He understood the necessity, but still, that woman. . .

Bobby walked into the bedroom and set out a change of clothes, laid his suit trousers and jacket on the bed, stripped and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, waited for it to warm, stepped in and sobbed with relief.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	49. Chapter 49

236

Designed Intent

Chapter 49

Sunday Afternoon

"I do not want to leave you," he said into her neck.

"I don't want you to go, Love, but you have to."

Willow Cheswick was in the bedroom, straightening the bed. She wanted to give them privacy as they said goodbye. Gleason had been released at lunchtime and Bobby brought her home. He had taken her clothes and her green throw.

Beforehand, however, he had gone to the grocery and gotten plenty of things for her to eat. He also stopped at a lingerie shop and purchased a pretty nightgown and robe set. He got her a pair of slippers as well.

He also brought home the flowers; Gleason was well loved at Northwestern. Mrs. Cornwall, the department secretary, and the graduate assistants in her department sent her a vase of flowers and Dr. Manlowe and his wife sent a lovely plant. The two students who saw Gleason and Bobby in the grocery store at the beginning of the semester brought a hefty gift card good at any shop in the local mall; they had taken a collection from students in each of her classes; and they still could not keep their eyes off Bobby. Malcolm sent a wonderful bouquet of hyacinths, tulips and poppies – all out of season, nonetheless – arranged in a lovely teapot that she could use afterward. Bobby read that card; it was professionally noncommittal. He wanted to knock that arrangement off the counter, but did not.

Gladys had shown up with two casseroles and a pie. She put her hand on Gleason's shoulder and didn't let go; then, she wouldn't leave. Gladys offered to do Gleason's laundry, bring in her mail from the common delivery, get her the newspaper and magazines, run errands, stay with her – anything to be near. Gleason recognized what the manager was about and graciously declined each offer with thanks.

"I'll call you when I get to New York," he told her. "Do you want me to call you in the morning?"

"No, Love. Go testify and find out if you can come back. In any case, I'll fly home next weekend and stay there. I think I'm going to take as much time as Dr. Manlowe will give me." They stared at each other lovingly.

"I need to go. I love you. I'll call you. Don't overdo it. Rest. Swear to me you will rest."

"I swear. Now go. I love you."

Together they walked to the bedroom doors and Bobby said, "Willow, thank you for staying with her. You have my numbers, right?"

Willow turned and smiled, "Yes, Robert, I have all of your numbers. I'll take good care of her." Then, to Gleason, she added, "We'll have a good, relaxing time, won't we?"

Gleason smiled and nodded. A horn tooted outside and Bobby kissed her once more, hugged her gently and left.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday

Bobby spent each grueling day at the courthouse. The defense grilled, cross-examined, recalled, and questioned him in every sense of the word, on every statement; and he was brilliant, unflappable. Bobby was calm, assured, precise – and pretty much made the case for the prosecution.

Deakins and Carver both noticed how different Bobby seemed. He was his old self, the 'before Gleason Bobby,' strong, confident, centered. Dr. Stephens had heard about Gleason and called Bobby at home one evening to see how Gleason was and to assess how Bobby was. She noticed the difference as they spoke.

He spoke with Gleason several times each day. She was getting stronger and stronger. Willow would take her to her doctor's appointment tomorrow and they would find out if Gleason could fly home with Bobby on Sunday. Bobby was heading to Chicago tomorrow, tonight if he finished on the stand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday Evening

Bobby pulled to the curb and walked the half block to Tim's gallery. The bells over the door announced his arrival.

"Bobby! Good to see you again." The slight, bald man came around the counter with his hand extended.

"Hi, Tim thanks for waiting for me." They shook hands and then embraced briefly.

"What can I do for you?"

Bobby looked at the floor and two-stepped backwards. His left hand went to the back of his head and he said, "I, uh, I need you to make a wedding ring." He looked up sheepishly.

Tim was stunned. "Are you serious?" Bobby grinned and nodded. "Who is she? That gorgeous woman you brought in here a few months ago?" Again, Bobby grinned and nodded. "My God, man! Congratulations!" Tim slapped Bobby on the back. "When do you need it?

"Whenever you get it done. We haven't set a date. Ha, I haven't even asked her yet."

"You're pretty sure about this, huh?"

Bobby smiled and said, "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Do you know what you want?"

"Uh, yeah, kind of; I have an idea."

Tim moved around the counter and grabbed a note pad. "Ok, tell me what you want. I'll sketch and then we can tweak." Bobby described in detail what he wanted Gleason to have and Tim sketched.

"What size ring does she wear?"

Bobby looked at his friend, "I, I don't know."

"Well, you need to find out. Bobby, this is ring is going to be expensive. I mean, my workmanship and the setting are on the house as my gift to you both, but what you want is the most expensive there is. The size of her finger will determine the number of stones."

"How do I get her ring size?"

"Ask her."

"No, no, she's never worn a ring. Besides, I want this to be a surprise."

"Well, have her try on a few. I can't go too far until I know her size. I'll start looking for stones and see what I can find. You want quality everything, right?"

"Yes, I want the best. I want it unlike any other."

Tim looked up at his friend and smiled, shaking his head, not believing what Bobby had said, "Ok, Bobby, find out what size she wears and get back to me. I have to say, friend, I never thought you would do it. She's pretty special, huh?"

Bobby smiled, looked at the floor and said, "Yeah, Tim, she's like the ring, unlike any other."

Tim was impressed with his friend. He always knew Bobby was smart, but awkward. The woman he had given the necklace to was outstanding. Tim was genuinely happy for his friend.

"Let me know what size." They shook hands.

"Thanks Tim. I'll get back with you." Bobby smiled the whole way home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	50. Chapter 50

242

Designed Intent

Chapter 50

Friday Noon

"Will you call me and let me know how you are doing?"

"Malcolm, I told Dr. Manlowe I'm taking four weeks. I'll be back in four weeks. I'm not going to call you. Please, just go."

He looked at her deeply and she looked away. "Nothing has changed, you know, I still have feelings for you, Lass."

Gleason would not look at him. She stood in the doorway to the apartment, wanting him to leave – before Bobby arrived. "Go home to your wife and son, Malcolm."

He had said nothing about reuniting with Maeve, how did Gleason know this? He desperately wanted his cake and he wanted to eat it, too. "It's not over. Us, we're not over."

"There is no 'us,' Malcolm! Now go. Please."

"There was, could still be. I'll not forget that night, Gleason. We would have made love had Gussie not fallen. You wanted to, we were on your bed, undressing. I know you felt something for me. You still do. I know it."

"I am sorry that happened. It was a mistake. Go Malcolm, just go." She shut the door and Malcolm walked slowly to his car. He was backing out of the parking spot when the taxi arrived. Bobby exited the cab; saw the other man and the two men made eye contact. What the fu-! Bobby thought.

"Hi, Sweetheart," he said opening the door. Gleason stepped from the bedroom and rushed to him. "Don't run! Honey, you have to take it easy." They embraced and kissed tenderly. Bobby struggled with whether to mention that he saw Malcolm leaving. He wanted to see what Gleason would do – whether she would say anything.

"I am so happy to be going home, Love."

"It will be wonderful to have you home, the way it should be." Bobby removed his coat and tossed it on the sofa. "How are you feeling? Ok to fly?"

"Bobby, I feel wonderful. I can breathe and I have energy. I feel so strong."

He smiled and said nothing, waiting, wondering.

Gleason asked, "Are you hungry? We should finish up what I have here so it doesn't go to waste."

"Yeah, what do you have? Anything good?"

Gleason made cheese sandwiches and small salads with the last of the vegetables. She heated up the rest of the casseroles Gladys had brought over and had already thrown out the ricotta and cottage cheese pie. She poured the last of the orange juice for Bobby and he made a pot of tea for her.

"Love?"

"Hmmm?" he answered with a mouthful of casserole.

Gleason set down her fork and said, "Bobby, Malcolm was here earlier. I didn't call him, he just showed up; and I didn't let him in." She looked at her plate as she told him.

Bobby swallowed and set down his fork, wiped his mouth and calmly asked, "What did he want?"

Gleason sighed and said, "He, he told me how he felt, still feels, about me. He asked me to call him from New York."

"What did you tell him?"

She finally looked up at Bobby and replied, "I told him to leave. To go back to his wife and son. That I was going home for a month."

She looked at him, waiting for him to explode. It didn't happen; instead, Bobby reached for her hand, took it and said, "I love you, Gleason. That part of us is over. There are just us now. Just us."

Gleason stood, came around the table to him, bent and kissed him. "I love you, Bobby. I love only you. Forever."

Bobby slid back from the table and pulled her onto his lap. He held her and rocked. He nuzzled her neck and murmured, "Did you ask the doctor when it would be safe for us to make love?"

"She said six weeks."

Bobby pulled back and looked at her with shock, "_Six weeks_?!"

Gleason smiled and said, "Gotcha."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby and Gleason went together to return Gladys's casserole dishes and pie plate. They also took the lovely plant Dr. and Mrs. Manlowe had sent. "Hey, good to see you two! C'mon in," Gladys said, opening the door to her apartment in the main house.

"Oh, we can't stay. Thank you for the wonderful food, Gladys, it was kind of you to do that," Gleason said handing over the glass dishes; Bobby handed Gleason the plant. "I was wondering if you can water this plant whilst I am in New York."

"You're going back to New York?" Gladys asked looking from Gleason to Bobby.

"Yeah, she's coming home to recuperate. We leave in the morning."

"For how long? What about your classes at the University?"

"I'll be home for four weeks and my classes are all taken care of. Would you collect my mail or should I suspend delivery?"

"No, no. I'll be happy to collect it for you." No one said anything for a moment.

"We should be going. Thanks for looking after her this week," Bobby said, putting his arm around Gleason.

"Oh, I didn't do anything. That professor lady friend was here those couple a days. I just brought over her mail, seen if she needed anything."

"Thank you Gladys. I'll see you when I get back. Thanks again." Bobby and Gleason both nodded, smiled and Bobby led her to the steps. Gladys watched them leave and shut the door.

"That is one creepy woman," Bobby said, shuddering dramatically.

"Oh, she's nice. She's a very caring person."

"Yeah, well, I think she's got the hots for you."

"Don't be silly!"

Bobby's perceptions were rarely wrong about things. And, he was right about this one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday

Bobby and Gleason entered their apartment and Bobby set down her bag; they brought home more clothing for her as she would be home for four weeks.

"Thank God you are home and safe," he said, embracing her, holding her tight, rocking her.

Gleason leaned against him, feeling so safe, warm, loved. "I love you, Bobby, I love you." She looked up into his face and he kissed her gently, chastely.

"I am so glad you are home, Sweetheart. I love you so much." Bobby had not felt such peace in a long time. "How do you feel? Do you want to take a nap? Are you hungry?"

"I want to be with you, Love, just be with you. Can we take a walk and then get some lunch?"

He smiled and hugged her, "Of course, of course."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They walked toward the small park near their apartment, holding hands as they always did. The air was crisp and the leaves were turning. The curly-haired child popped up in front of them. He had stopped fading and felt excited. He didn't know why he was so excited, but his mommy wasn't sick any more and the blue that surrounded his daddy and mommy was gone; instead, he saw a golden light around them. Christian skipped ahead; he loved when they went to the park. He wished his mommy and daddy would see him and play with him.

Bobby stopped in front of the fountain and pulled Gleason to him. He enveloped her in his arms and whispered into her hair. "I love you. I love you." His voice was deep. He held her tightly.

Gleason leaned back in his arms and looked up at him. She saw him look deep into her soul. "Bobby . . . ?"

"Gleason, marry me."

She stared at him and her mouth fell open; she was not expecting this. This had never occurred to her. She knew they would be together forever, but _marriage_.

"Say yes, Gleason, say you will marry me." He felt his panic begin to rise. She will say yes, she will. Please say yes.

Gleason moved from his arms, took two steps back, and turned away from him.

"Honey?" He reached for her. "Gleason?" Oh, God. Oh, God.

She turned back and whispered, "Yes, Bobby, I'll marry you."

He wasn't sure he heard her, "What?"

Gleason moved to him and said, "Yes, I'll marry you."

He grabbed her and held her, "Oh, Honey, thank you. Thank you."

"Bobby, don't thank me. I love you. We should get married. We should. We are living together as husband and wife. We share everything. I will love you forever. It is the right thing to do."

"Oh, Gleason I love you. Let's go now."

"What? Bobby! Now? You mean today?"

"Yes, let's go right now. I'll call Judge Weisenstein, he considers me a friend. He'll do it." Then Bobby realized, maybe Gleason wanted a real wedding. He held her at arm's length, "Do you, do you want a real wedding?"

"No, goodness, no; but, let's think this through. We need to pick the right date. The date is important."

"Ok, but I want to do this soon. I don't want to wait. I love you and I want us to be married."

"We will be married soon. I promise, Love, I promise."

The little boy stood and watched his daddy and mommy talk. They were happy, so he was happy, too. The boy skipped over to the swings, got on and pumped with his legs, wanting them to come and push him, but they kissed and walked on. The empty swing moved in the breeze.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	51. Chapter 51

247

Designed Intent

Chapter 51

Saturday Afternoon

Bobby and Gleason sat across from each other in a booth beside the window. Gleason examined a pocket calendar.

"The Samhain is two weeks from today," she looked up at him – he had no clue, "Martinmas – the end of summer holiday. It's the Wiccan New Year." Bobby looked at her as if she was speaking Greek. "It's a good day, Love. You are off that weekend, too." She looked at him and saw joy.

"Two weeks. I can't wait." Bobby took her hands in his and rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles. He looked up suddenly, "Honey," and then he looked at the tabletop, "Honey, that isn't, uhm, is that, oh. . ."

"What?"

His head tilted left and he licked his lips, this was hard for him to ask, "Will your period be then?" he whispered, looked down and turned very red.

Gleason chuckled and squeezed his hands, "No, Sweet, it won't be then." She smiled and he still could not look at her. "Will we need witnesses, or will the court provide them?" Gleason asked, changing the subject.

Bobby looked up and said, "I'd like to ask Lewis to be my best man." He saw a shift in her look. Who would be her witness?

"Do we need two witnesses?" she asked.

"I think so."

Gleason thought and then looked at him and said, "Bobby, who else should be a witness? Do I need to find a female witness?"

Bobby looked at her and knew there was no one she could ask. It was apparent that Gleason had no real friends.

"I could ask Alex. Would that be ok?"

Bobby did not want Alex to be a part of their day. He did not want to say no to Gleason but, more importantly, he did not want Alex to be involved. He took her hand again and said, "What about Lewis's girlfriend, Sheila?"

Gleason knew Bobby did not want to mingle work with his private life. She had never met Sheila but said, "That's a good idea."

Bobby smiled and knew she acquiesced to please him. "Uhm, we, we need to look for a ring for you." He smiled, knowing that her ring was nearly complete. He and Tim had arranged to have Gleason come in and try on gold bands to get a size. Tim would then size the ring Bobby had designed and it would be ready for the big day.

"We each need a ring, Bobby. I want you to wear a ring, it is important to me. Will you wear one for me?"

"Of course Honey, of course. I want to. I want you with me all the time." They smiled silently. "Let's go to Tim's gallery and see what we can find."

Gleason smiled and looked down. Bobby saw a tear fall. "Honey, what's wrong? Gleason?"

She looked up and her blue eyes held puddles. Her nose was pink and she wiped it with a paper napkin.

"Honey? Why are you crying? What's wrong?"

She sniffed and said, "Nothing, Love. I just cannot believe we are going to look for wedding bands." She covered her face and cried softly. Bobby reached across the table and held onto her wrist.

The server stopped to refill their cups, saw Gleason crying and asked quietly, "Do you want a fill up or the check?"

Bobby smiled broadly and said, "The check, please." He reached into his back pocket for his handkerchief and gave it to Gleason, "Here, Honey." Gleason took the cloth and smiled at him. "Are you ok?" he asked bending to look up at her face.

She nodded and smiled, "You must think I'm crazy," she sniffed and smiled.

"Come on, Sweetheart; let's go find us some gold." Bobby pulled his money clip from his front pocket and set bills on the table. He took Gleason's hand and led her to the door.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door jingled and Tim looked up. A smile brightened his face as he and Bobby looked at each other. "Well, hello, my friend. What can I do for you today?"

"Um, we are, we're looking for wedding bands, Tim."

Tim feigned his surprise and shook Bobby's hand. He pressed Gleason's hand between his and looked at his friend. "She's a keeper, Bobby. You have done well."

Bobby and Gleason both blushed. "What have you got for us to see, Tim?"

They spent the better part of an hour looking at rings, trying them on and selected a matching pair of slim gold bands. Bobby's size eleven and Gleason's size five were set aside with engraving instructions.

Bobby and Tim shook hands and Tim gave Gleason a peck on the cheek.

The couple held hands as they walked back to the car. He opened her door and helped her up then rounded the front, watched for traffic and joined her.

"So, do you like the rings?" Bobby asked with a smile.

"Yes. I still cannot believe we are getting married!"

Bobby leaned over and kissed her. "I guess I should call the judge. What time should we do it?"

"Doesn't that depend on when the judge is available?"

"No, he's a good guy. Any preferences?"

"It doesn't matter so long as it's on the half hour."

"You mean like two-thirty, four-thirty?"

"Aye, a legend says that marriages that occur with the minute hand rising will last longer."

"Ok, what time?"

Bobby called Judge Weisenstein and asked if he would be available at four-thirty the Saturday after next. The judge was delighted, and honored, to do the deed. Next, they drove to Lewis's auto shop in Long Island City and Bobby asked his best friend to be his best man.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you kidding me?! _Married_?" Lewis was in shock.

Bobby nodded, smiled, shuffled and blushed.

"Oh. My. God. Bobby! I cannot believe this," Lewis was stunned. He stood with his mouth open, looking from Bobby to Gleason. Then, to Gleason he said, "Are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with this man? Have you even met him?"

Gleason laughed with her head thrown back, "Oh, yes, Lewis, I have met him and I love him. He _is_ the rest of my life."

Bobby put his arm around her and hugged her close. Lewis went on, "Bobby Goren is getting married. Oh my God! The end of an era. Wait till I tell Mom – Bobby, this will kill her. Do you know what kind of pressure you are putting on me now? She'll never leave me alone. Good grief, she's finally eased up a bit with the, 'Well, Bobby has a real job. He wears a suit everyday.'" Lewis mimicked in a falsetto voice.

"Oh, come on, Lewis. Let up. It's not such a big deal," Bobby told his friend then quickly added, "Yes, it is a big deal. Isn't it?" He smiled down at Gleason and she smiled back up.

Gleason asked Lewis if Sheila would be her witness.

"Uh, well, you see, uh, Sheila and me, we kinda, well, I kinda broke up with her. Sorry."

"Oh, I see. Ok." Gleason was embarrassed and stepped closer to Bobby. He hugged her closer.

Bobby moved the conversation away with, "Well, Lewis, this means a suit and tie. You have two weeks to clean up. Do you have a suit?" Bobby laughed but secretly wondered.

"Yes, I have a suit, Jesus Bobby. Listen, I have to go pick up Mom. I'll talk to you this week. Congratulations again, man. Gleason he's a lucky, lucky guy."

She smiled and looked down and the two men shook hands. Lewis walked back into his garage and the couple turned.

They were quiet as they drove back to the apartment. Bobby's cell rang on the way and he checked the number, "Lewis, what's up?"

"Uh, Bobby, Mom wants to know if she can come to your wedding. She says she wants to see at least one of her boys be an honorable man."

Bobby chuckled and said, "Well, sure, I guess. Let me see what Gleason says." He put the phone against his chest and said, "It's Lewis, his mom wants to come to the wedding. She would always take me in when Mom was really bad."

"Certainly, that would be wonderful." Maybe she would be my witness, Gleason thought. Then her mind went to Mrs. Goren. Bobby's mother said she wanted to be at their wedding. Gleason looked at Bobby.

"Yes, four-thirty. I'll talk to you before then. Bye." He slipped his phone back into his left pocket and reached for her hand.

"Bobby, what about your mom, she has said she wants to be there when we get married." She looked at him and saw the change. Bobby's head tilted to the left and his hand went slack around hers. His lips were tight and he breathed deeply through his nose. "Love?"

Bobby said nothing and they were silent the whole way home. He parked around the block from their apartment and they walked home hand-in-hand. Neither said a word until he was hanging up her wrap and his jacket. Gleason knew he needed this silent time to think through the idea of his mother being at the wedding.

"Gleason, I'm not sure about having Mom there," he said softly. "She's, she's not stable. This last thing, her new hallucination, she lost it pretty badly. Honey, I'm not sure."

Gleason crossed to him, took his arms in her hands, and looked up at him. "Dearheart, it is up to you if you want your mother there. You know what is best for her. What will we tell her? She will know when she sees the rings. You don't want to keep this from her, do you?"

He took her in his arms and spoke into the top of her head. "No, no, we need to tell her. She will want to know; we will just tell her we did it on the spur of the moment. That no one knew but us."

"Whatever you want, Love. She is your mom, you know what's best." She hugged him and they rocked gently.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	52. Chapter 52

251

Designed Intent

Chapter 52

Saturday Night

That evening, Bobby and Gleason sat together on the sofa. The lights were low and each had a glass of wine; Bobby had put on soft music. They cuddled together.

"I love you, Gleason."

"I love you, too, Dearheart."

"I want us to be happy. I don't want to fight anymore. I want us to be happy."

Gleason took a sip of her wine, reached across him and set the glass on the end table. "We are happy, Love. I am. Are you?"

He set his glass beside hers and put his left hand on the side of her face, turning her to look into her eyes, "Yes, I am the happiest I've been in a long time. I want us to stay this way. This is the way it should be."

She leaned in and they kissed – a soft, gentle kiss, tongues barely touching. Gleason laid her head against his shoulder and asked, "Love, how do you think those pills Dr. Stephens gave you are working? Do they seem to help?"

"I guess," Bobby replied, thought a minute and then continued, "Yes, they must be. I haven't had a surge of anger since I started on them. I feel centered, calm. I feel like I'm in control again. I mean, during the trial, when the defense picked at everything I said, challenged every word, I was getting pissed, but I knew what he was doing. I knew he was doing his job. I didn't get angry, and not even upset. I was just frustrated because we were going over and over the same stuff and I wanted to get to you. But I never lost it. I felt really in control. So, I guess they work."

The couple was quiet for a moment and Gleason said, "I noticed that you seemed calmer. You didn't get upset when I told you that Malcolm stopped by yesterday. I thought you might, but you didn't."

"And I didn't haul him out of his car and beat the shit out of him when I saw him leaving," Bobby said with a smile.

Gleason sat up and looked at him in surprise, "You saw him! And you didn't say anything? Bobby!"

"I know. A few weeks ago, I would have probably attacked him and then screamed at you. Better living through pharmaceuticals."

Again, they sat quietly and then Bobby said, "That whole piece of our lives is over. Malcolm has no place in our lives. Right?"

"Bobby, my heart is full of you. My mind is full of you. I love only you. Malcolm will back off when he knows we are married. I'll see to it."

Bobby hugged her and sighed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, the couple slept wrapped in each other's arms, as was their way. Gleason fell asleep first and Bobby lay holding her, caressing her, relishing in her warmth, counting her breaths, loving her. Eventually he slept and they both dreamt. A little boy with dark red curls popped into each sleeper's dream.

Gleason saw a little boy, her little boy, walking along the top of a stone wall. "Tian," she called, "Tian, come to Mummy." She watched the child stop, turn and clamber off the wall. He ran to her and she bent with her arms outstretched.

"Mommy!" the child called, "Mommy!" He ran, tripped and fell. Gleason jumped up and rushed to him. Tian lay on his stomach, crying.

Gleason turned him over, pulled him up to sit and held him, shushing him. "Tian, my Tian, are you all right? Let Mummy see your knees." She examined his knees and found minor scrapes. A movement to her left caught her eye and she turned.

Gleason's dream ended right there.

Bobby sighed and shifted. He rarely dreamt, but he did this night. He watched his small son run calling, "Mommy! Mommy!" Then he saw the child fall and watched his wife jump up and rush to the boy. Bobby started toward them.

"Chris! Glea is he ok?" he called. He trotted to them and lifted his son from the ground, putting a hand on the back of the child's head. Christian clung to his father's neck and cried anew. Gleason put a hand on Bobby's waist and the other on her child's back, rubbing and patting gently. "There, there Chris. You're ok. You're ok," Bobby purred softly.

Slowly Christian quieted and rested his head on his daddy's shoulder, looking at his mommy. Bobby put an arm around Gleason and she wrapped one around him. The family stood together, safe in each other's love. Needing nothing, needing no one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Morning

Bobby woke rested and full of peace. He rolled and wrapped around the woman beside him. He slid his arm over her waist and she sighed and snuggled against him. His manhood twitched and began to fill. He sighed deeply, inhaling her scent and his fingers moved to her breast.

The thumb of his right hand dragged back and forth over her nipple and Gleason murmured softly and pushed her bottom against his crotch. Bobby stiffened fully and began to pull up her nightgown, his mouth moving to her shoulder. He kissed, licked and sucked a soft, warm spot. She smelled so nice. His breaths came faster.

The hem of her nightgown exposed her bottom and his hand moved from her breast to her hip, then around to his dick. He placed himself against the space between her cheeks and couldn't help but push gently. Gleason roused and half turned, "Love?"

"Honey, I want you. Can we? Can we?" he breathed.

Gleason turned over to face him and said softly, "Here, let me get you. Let me make you come." She took his cock and began to stroke.

Bobby groaned and rolled onto his back, eyes closed, "No, don't," he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "Don't. It's not fair. Don't." He looked at her and pulled up his knees.

"I'll do it, Love. It's not a problem."

Bobby looked at the only woman he would ever love, love for the rest of his life. She was willing to jerk him off because he couldn't control himself when she had had heart surgery and they couldn't make love for ten days. Jesus. Suddenly, he sat up, took her head and kissed her. "I need a cold shower," he said and rolled off the bed and walked into the bathroom, his poker drooping.

Gleason laid back and smiled, she loved him. She stretched and recalled wisps of a dream – a nice dream, about a little boy, with dark red curls – her little boy. Tian. Gleason's eyes filled and she cried softly. She did want him. She did. And now it was too late.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby stepped behind her at the kitchen sink and nuzzled her neck. He turned her and saw her red eyes and nose, "What's wrong? Are you ok? Honey?" He bent at the waist and looked into her face. "Gleason, what's the matter? Are you upset about what I wanted?"

"No, Love, no." she moved to get the toast from the toaster, but he held onto her.

"Come here and talk to me. Tell me what's wrong." Bobby led her to a kitchen chair and sat beside her. "Baby?"

Gleason's eyes filled again. "I had a dream. About the boy your mum sees. Our son." She dissolved and covered her eyes.

Bobby sat back and his dream drifted back. Oh my God, he thought. "Gleason, tell me what you remember. Tell me about your dream."

She wiped her nose on a napkin and began, "He was on a stone wall, that same stone wall from before. I called to him – Tian, I called him Tian. And he jumped down and came running to me. But he fell and I went to him and he had scratched his knees. He was crying and I tried to comfort him." She looked at Bobby and didn't recognize the look on his face, "What's wrong?"

"I, I had kind of the same dream." Bobby sat forward, elbows on the table, fingers tented in front of his lips.

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you run to him. I called to you and asked if he was all right. I called him 'Chris.' I ran to you and picked him up and held him and told him he was ok. You put your arm around me and rubbed his back. I remember feeling so happy, so safe." He said all of this staring into the living room. Now he looked at her. Their eyes locked.

"We dreamed the same dream?" Gleason asked, "The little boy was in both of our dreams? Bobby, he is our son. He's the baby. Our baby." Gleason was working herself up.

"Honey, Honey, calm down."

Gleason stood up and turned, hands to her face. Bobby stood with her and took her by the arms, turning her to face him. "Gleason, it means nothing. Honey, it's impossible for us to have had the same dream. It's a coincidence. Ok? It's nothing."

Gleason wanted to believe him, she did. But, too many elements were lining up. Bobby's dream followed the action in her dream. The same little boy appeared in each of their dreams and was the same as the child who Mrs. Goren said she talked with. The child looked like a mix of Bobby and she. She knew the baby she had miscarried was a boy. This was that child. Their child. "Bobby, he wants to be born."

Bobby closed his eyes and pulled her close, "No, Sweetheart, there is no baby. This is a coincidence, that's all." He held her and rocked her and fought the urge to believe her.

Gleason considered all that he said, "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes, it's just a coincidence. I am sure there are more differences than similarities in the dreams and what Mom sees."

"Can we go see her today?"

It was Sunday; their usual day to make the drive up to Carmel Ridge, Frances would be expecting them. Bobby had not told his mother about Gleason's heart problem and surgery. Now that she was well, they would tell her.

"Ok, but let's follow her lead; let's see if she talks about this little boy. I don't want to bring it up. Ok?"

Gleason wanted to talk with Mrs. Goren about this child; she had a lot she wanted to know. Like, what do he and she talk about; is he there all the time; where does he go; what does he do? And so much more. "All right. We won't mention the wedding; we won't mention the child – what else is there?" Gleason walked into the living room.

He followed her and said, "We'll talk about your surgery, I'll tell her about the trial. We'll tell her about you staying at home for four weeks. We have a lot to talk about. It will be fine." They looked at each other for a moment, neither daring say they were keeping secrets from his mother. Bobby changed the subject with, "Then, maybe we can stop in Churchill on the way home. We can look around a bit. Get some lunch. Ok?"

Gleason nodded.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	53. Chapter 53

255

Designed Intent

Chapter 53

Sunday Afternoon

"Hi, Mom," Bobby said as the couple entered his mother's room.

Frances looked up from the children's book she was reading and lit up, "You're here! Oh, come in, come in! Look, Christian, Mommy and Daddy are here."

Gleason stopped dead and Bobby put his hand on her shoulder, gave an encouraging squeeze and Gleason continued.

"Bobby, get the chair for Gleason and pull over Sylvia's for you. That's it. I was just reading this book to Christian. You know, Bobby, I was upset when you paid money for these instead of getting them free at the library, but now, I think you were smart. Christian loves these books, especially this one. If they were from the library, you would have had to return them by now."

Frances Goren looked old. Bobby noticed that she did not try to get up when they entered as she usually did. She looked frail and her voice was thinner.

"You feeling ok, Mom?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. This little one here keeps me young, right Sweet Pea?" Mrs. Goren looked down to her right – at a height where a three-year old would stand.

Bobby and Gleason watched his mother appear to listen and then nod. Then she smiled and said, "We'll finish it later. I want to talk with your Daddy and Mommy right now. You go play for a bit. Ok? That's my Sweet Pea." Then, she turned her attention back to the couple sitting and staring at her. "There, he's gone off to play so we can talk."

"Mrs. Goren, what do you and the little boy talk about?" Gleason asked. She was eager to learn more about this child. He was no longer a hallucination in Gleason's mind.

"Oh my, lots of things, Dear. Why, we talk about Bobby when he was a little boy." Mrs. Goren looked lovingly at her son. "I tell him what we used to do. Remember, Bobby, how you and Frank would help me in the library? You would push the cart and Frank and I would reshelf the books. I remember how you wanted to place the books back into the space, but you were too little. You did like to push that cart, though. Remember?"

Bobby nodded silently.

"What does he say to you?" Gleason asked.

"Not much. He is a quiet little boy. That is why I am so glad you got us these books, Bobby. Oh, Christian does like when I read to him. I wish he would sit on my lap though. Or, let me feel his curls. He does not like me to touch him. I think he's shy that way."

"Is he around all the time?"

"Honey, let's tell Mom about your surgery," Bobby interrupted. He knew that Gleason wanted to find out all she could about this child and he did not want her to fixate on it. To be honest, he didn't want to know more lest that knowledge corroborate what he feared might be true.

"Surgery? What surgery? Gleason are you all right, Dear? Tell me."

Gleason shot Bobby a look and knew he did not want her to pursue talking about the child. "I'm fine, Mrs. Goren. I have a pacemaker now."

"A pacemaker? Old people have pacemakers! What's wrong with your heart? Mrs. Engstrom, down the hall has a pacemaker and she is as old as the hills. You're too young. Why did they give you a pacemaker for goodness sake?"

"Gleason's heart has been irregular for a while now. The pacemaker will keep her going at a steady rhythm. You feel better now, right?" Bobby reached for her hand.

"Yes, I feel better than I have in a long time."

"And, my girl will be home for four weeks, Mom."

Gleason smiled at Mrs. Goren's look of surprise. "Four weeks? That is a month! Whatever for? What about teaching? Who is going to teach those kids? You cannot just leave those kids without a teacher. That is a big responsibility, you know, being a teacher. Are you sure you should be home for four weeks? You say you feel good, why four weeks? That sounds like a long time to me. You should go back and teach those kids you said you would teach. You do not want to leave them in the lurch like that. Gleason, they need you. You should –"

"Mom, Mom – it's ok. The doctor said Gleason needs to heal. Her heart had a leak that needed to be fixed as well. She needs the time to heal. It's ok; the school has her classes covered."

Bobby's mother tended to perseverate on a topic and sometimes needed an intervention to break the chatter. He bent the truth a bit about the tear in the patch as his mother did not know about the shooting last spring. More importantly, Bobby didn't feel angry or upset at his mom this time. Beforehand, she would get under his skin when she went on and on and he would get upset. He was fine.

"Well, so long as the kids are learning," Mrs. Goren added. She looked over at the drape and smiled. "You silly thing! I see you! Come say hi to your Mommy and Daddy. Come on, come over here."

Gleason stared at the drapes, searched everywhere, but saw nothing but drapes. "What is he doing, Mrs. Goren?"

"That Sweet Pea is ducking behind the drapes, playing peek-a-boo. I can see you, Chris, I can see you."

Bobby's heart jumped when he heard his mother call the hallucination "Chris."

"He's shy, he won't come over here. So, what about you, Bobby, what have you been up to?"

Bobby told his mother about the Bandelli trial and she was fascinated. Gleason said little more; she kept searching for anything that would tell her the child was real. She knew he was not, but the dreams still clung to her.

After about an hour, the couple left. They drove to Churchill, looked around, bought nothing, had lunch and then headed for home. It was dark when they parked and they walked to the apartment hand-in-hand.

As they settled into bed, Gleason asked Bobby, "Do you think we'll dream again?"

"If we do, I hope we're both naked and sweaty," he smiled at her.

"You know what I mean."

"Honey, let it go. Ok? Let's just go to sleep." He kissed her gently and they snuggled in their way.

Again, Gleason fell asleep first and Bobby lay wondering about the dreams, his mother's hallucination, how frail she looked, Gleason's feelings, his own feelings. Eventually, he slept as well.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Tian? Tian, where are you? Tian!" Gleason called. She searched everywhere but could not find him. "Tian! Where are you?" She walked through the field, toward the stone wall. "Tian, come to Mummy. Tian?"

She felt her panic rise. Where is he? Where is he? Tears filled her eyes and she continued to call him. "Tian?"

Bobby turned over at the first whimper she made. Then the whimpers escalated into mumbles and then into a shout. "Honey, wake up. Gleason, wake up. Gleason!"

Gleason shot awake with, "Where is he?!"

"Honey, you were dreaming. You were dreaming." He smoothed the hair from the side of her face and looked at her. He saw the tears. "What were you dreaming?" He knew what it was. "Tell me."

"He's lost, Bobby. He's gone. I was looking and looking and calling and calling, but he's gone."

"Gleason, it was just a dream. No one is lost. Sweetheart, it was a dream."

She looked at him and wanted to believe him, but she knew the little boy, Christian, was their son. She nodded and he bent to kiss her.

"Go back to sleep, Honey. I love you."

"Uh huh," she mumbled and turned over and was immediately asleep.

Surprisingly, Bobby was asleep as well.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"We'll find him, Honey. Chris! Chris, where are you?" Bobby held tight to Gleason's hand as they trudged through the field. He didn't want to think their son had gone into the corn across the road. He could be lost for days wandering up and down the rows. "Chris!"

"Bobby he's just a little boy. He's only three! Where is he? Tian! Tian, come to Mummy. Tian?" She began to cry.

"Gleason, when we get to the stone wall, I want you to wait there for me. I'm going to look for him in the corn."

Gleason stopped in her tracks, "Oh God, Bobby, do you think he went into the corn? We'll never find him! Tian!"

"Gleason, calm down. We'll find him. We'll find him."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	54. Chapter 54

251

Designed Intent

Chapter 54

Monday Morning

Bobby reached and shut off the alarm clock. He felt like he hadn't slept at all. He turned over and looked straight into her wide blue eyes.

"Morning, Love," she said and put her hand on the back of his head, pulled him to her and kissed him. "Did you sleep well?"

"I'm beat. How do you feel?"

"I slept all right. Why are you so tired?"

He did not want her to recall the bad dream she had had during the night if she had forgotten it. He clearly recalled his dream that seemed to follow hers as it had the night before. "It happens. I better get up." He kissed her softly, and then headed for the bathroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby and Gleason stood at the apartment door, he held her arms and she held his travel mug. "Will you stay in today? Promise me that you will stay in and rest. Tonight we'll go get some dinner. Ok?"

"Ok."

"Do you know what today is?" he asked her stepping closer, tilting his head to the left.

Gleason wrinkled her brow, tilted her head much like Bobby does, and asked, "No, what is today?"

He leaned in and kissed her, "Today is ten days since your surgery. We had to wait ten days before we could make love. Today is day ten. Today we can make love." He said all of this in a deep whisper.

Gleason smiled and said, "Oh-h-h, well, we have something to look forward to, don't we Love," she said with a smile, "You be very careful today. I want to see you here safe and sound tonight. Now go."

They kissed again, he took his mug and left. Bobby and Gleason had the same thought at the same moment – this is what it will be like when we are married.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been more than a week since Bobby had been back to One Police Plaza having been at the courthouse all day, everyday testifying and then into the evenings, preparing with Carver. He knew Eames had been solely responsible for their cases. He was excited to be back, but worried about how Eames would be – she had been touchy even before the trial began.

His partner was already at her desk when Bobby walked in. She did not look up, said nothing, stood and then walked to the printer. Bobby noticed that Sledge headed that way, too.

Deakins walked over and asked about Gleason. "She's much better. She'll, uh, she'll be home for four weeks," Bobby answered with a shy smile.

"Good, good; glad she's ok. Listen, Carver wants you to meet him in his office at three to go over your testimony. He said you might be called again later; this is going to be one long trial. In the meantime, talk with your partner; she has carried the whole load while you were in court. You owe her."

Bobby nodded and reached for the pink message slips; he was surprised to find only four, he thought there would have been more. Deakins glanced over toward the printer, saw Eames and Sledge talking, Sledge was gesturing and Eames was looking away. Deakins shook his head and then returned to his office. Bobby checked Eames' cup and saw it was already full of hot tea. He walked to the vending machines and bought a bag of the small fruity candy things she liked. Eames was grinning at the floor as she walked back to her desk.

"I got these for you," Bobby said holding out the bag, sounding like a little boy.

Eames looked at her partner and had to smile. Men! Sheesh.

"Thanks," she said, taking the peace offering.

"So, what do I need to know, need to do?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason made the bed, took a shower and tidied up the kitchen all the while feeling like how a good wife might feel looking after her happy home. She walked around smiling.

It was very different when Gavin had wanted her to marry him. She knew they were too young and realized that Gavin saw it as a way to encourage her to have a child; he desperately wanted to have children and she did not. Gleason was a wreck after their breakup and had gotten herself caught up with Clive soon after. She shut her mind to that.

Gleason did all there was to do in the apartment. She ran down, got the paper, read the whole thing and it wasn't even noon. She debated going for a walk. She needed the exercise and she felt fine. Besides, she wanted to look for a new top for the wedding and wanted to find a gift for Bobby. However, she had promised him that she would stay in. I don't want to call and ask him, she thought, so, I'll call and tell him. And she did.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eames turned right into the alley, the cherry light on the dash adding to the splashing red and white lights bouncing off the brick walls. She and Bobby slammed the car doors, started pulling on latex, and walked up to an officer.

"Eames and Goren, Major Case. Why were we called?" Eames asked the man who looked young enough to be a Boy Scout. They both pulled on winter gloves over the latex gloves and shoved hands into their pockets, as it was unseasonably cold.

"Not sure. We had a report of a break in, responded, found the two bodies, called it in and were told to wait for Major Case."

"Who are these two? Any ID?" Bobby asked; he started toward the two bodies when his cell phone rang. He pulled his phone from his pocket, checked the number, said, "Hi, Sweetheart," and walked away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason bundled up as Bobby had told her and headed out. It felt more like January than autumn and she loved it. Gleason felt wonderful – it felt so good to be back home in New York, to walk the streets of their neighborhood, to be able to breathe without problem. Outside the apartment building door, she turned right, walked to the corner and then turned left toward the block of shops.

She stopped in a rare-book store and asked after first editions by Ruben Lesky, Bobby's favorite author. They had nothing, but said they would make inquiries and let her know. She indicated she would like to have it within the next ten days and left her cell number.

Gleason continued walking for another half hour and stopped in a small coffee shop to warm up. She had a cup of tea and a brownie while she watched people come and go. It felt good to get warm; she wiped her nose with a paper napkin.

The bells over the door rang and Gleason looked up. In walked a man holding the hand of a small boy of about three. The man pulled off the child's hat and a mass of dark auburn curls sprung free. The little boy looked over at Gleason, smiled broadly and waved. Her cup stopped midway to her lips. The boy's eyes were grey – he looked exactly like the child Mrs. Goren described.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Everything ok?" Eames asked as Bobby returned from taking the call.

"What did you find out about these two?"

She looked up at him, "The designer jacket is one Melvin Turnbuckle and the grey hoodie is Sylvester Brine."

A second, older, uniformed walked up and said, "The way we figure, there's three of them. These two did a break-in off the fire escape there; the third guy is waiting here, like a lookout or something. These two probably went up, went in, took what they wanted, and came back down the same way they went up, using the fire escape. I'm figuring the lookout gets greedy, takes out these two and takes off with the haul. He's probably long gone by now."

Bobby stood listening, nodded and said, "Yeah, I don't think so." Bobby crossed to the end of the fire escape above them. He looked up at the retractable ladder hanging two feet above his head and then down at the ground under the pull-down ladder.

"What are you looking for?" Eames asked as she and the two officers watched.

Bobby reached up, pulled, and then yanked the ladder. It squealed with resistance and then jerked down under his tug. "This hasn't been used in a long while. Look, rust is flaking off. If these guys had used this ladder to go up and then come down, there would already be rust on the ground. There was no rust, now there is.

"These guys didn't use this escape. I think they were standing here, waiting for someone maybe. Someone calls to them from the end of the alley, they turn, the other guy shoots, these two drop and the shooter takes off. Do we know which apartment was burglarized?"

"Yeah, 2B, right up there," the young officer said, pointing.

Eames asked, "Who made the initial call?"

The older officer, not happy about being contradicted on his theory of how it went down, flipped open a notepad and read, "Anonymous 9-1-1 went to central dispatch. Me and my partner here were in vicinity and responded." He snapped shut the notebook and added with attitude, speaking directly to Bobby, "That sound plausible to you?" Without waiting for an answer, the older officer scowled and walked away.

Eames looked at Bobby with raised eyebrows. Bobby just shook his head and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

He looked at the bodies, not moving. Eames looked at him, waiting; she was just about to say something when he wiped his hand over his eyes and squatted over Turnbuckle.

"Two shots, one to the upper right shoulder and one to the throat, that one killed him." Bobby took the dead man's left hand and turned it over, examining both sides of the fingers, and then he bent and sniffed it and moved to the second body. "Three shots all centered at the heart. No powder burns, the shooter was not standing here."

"Detectives, we found this duffle in a trashcan two blocks south. It's heavy."

"Thanks," Eames said, taking the bag from the uniformed and set it on the ground. She shoved her hands back in her pockets and looked at her partner.

Bobby stood up and looked right and left. "Shots came from over there, the street maybe," he said, pointing left, toward the street end of the alley. "Turnbuckle, designer jacket here, was hit first; probably in the shoulder, turned and was then hit in the throat. Brine took three in the heart; the shooter was good. The sound of the gunfire would have been encapsulated within the alley." He looked up at the windows lining the alleyway and then said to one of the uniforms standing nearby, "Check out those apartments, see if anyone heard or saw anything." Then, looking at his partner he said, "Let's go take a look at the apartment."

"Good, let's go inside. It is freezing out here," Eames and the officer turned toward the mouth of the alley.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The little boy kept turning around and smiling at Gleason as he waited with his dad at the counter.

"Come on, Chris, let's take this to Mommy. She's waiting for us." The man took the bag and his change, and reached for the child's hand; they stopped at the door where the man set the bag on the table and pulled the boy's hat onto the curly dark mop and tugged on the tiny mittens. Gleason and the child continued to look at each other. The father pushed open the door and with bag in one hand and his child's hand in the other, the child looked back one last time and waved.

A chill crept down Gleason's neck and across her shoulders and down her back, the cup of tea still sat poised in front of her lips. Slowly she set down the cup and her fingers moved to her lips. Her impulse was to jump up and run after the man and boy.

Who was that child? He looked at her as if he knew her; he smiled and waved! He looked like what their child would have looked like. The man had called him 'Chris!'

Gleason wanted to call Bobby and tell him; but she didn't want to disturb him again. She left a tip, rose and pulled on her coat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	55. Chapter 55

250

Designed Intent

Chapter 55

Bobby and Eames followed the two uniforms up to 2B, the apartment with the reported break in. The place had been trashed and the CSU was picking through the mess, trying to dust and photograph.

"Geeze, look at this place," Eames said, stepping over an overturned end table.

Bobby moved to the center of the main room and looked around. Eames watched him look primarily at the floor, at the edges of the chaos.

He stepped to the sofa, carefully moved one of the cushions leaning on the front edge and stooped to examine a length of chain peeking out from underneath.

"What did you find?" Eames asked, making her way toward him through the clutter.

"Can I have a photo of this, please?" Bobby said over his shoulder. The photographer high stepped through the disorder and looked over Bobby's shoulder. "Thanks," Bobby answered to the flash. "Hang on, there's probably more. Here, give me a hand with this."

Bobby stood and he and the photographer upended the sofa. "One of you guys hang onto this, please." Two uniforms stepped up and held the sofa upright as Bobby stooped again, examining but not touching the object.

"What is that?" Eames asked.

Bobby was silent a moment, then replied, "This is a censer. It's old by the look of the finish."

"It's beautiful. What's it for?"

Bobby stood and explained, "Uh, it's a liturgical item, used in mostly Eastern Christian – especially Catholic – church services. This is particularly ornate, probably gold or gold plate. The intricate enamel inlays are unusual." Bobby stooped again, poked at the item with his pen and then stood, "Uh, it only has nine bells. There would have been twelve, representing the twelve apostles. And, uh, some of the enamel is cracked. It's very old."

"Somebody was looking for this and missed it?" Eames asked.

"Maybe. We need to look inside that duffle." He turned and said, "We need a large bag over here." To the photographer, he said, "This needs. . ."

"Yeah, I know, every angle," replied the photographer with a smile and nod.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason exited the coffee shop and looked to the left and right, searching for the man and little boy, knowing they would be gone. Gleason sighed hugely and a plume of icy breath clouded in front of her face. She turned left and continued down the block.

She couldn't get the child out of her mind. He knew her, or it seemed he did. What are the chances that a little boy who looked exactly like Bobby's mother's hallucination – which looked exactly what their child would look like – would walk into the very place where she was? Too many odd things were happening.

Three blocks later, she realized how far she had gone when the area became more residential. She decided to walk to Fifth Avenue to shop. By the time she got there, her nose was dripping and her cheeks were frozen. She got to Macey's and went in.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby lugged the duffle to a conference room and clanked it down on the table, pulling on gloves.

"Let's see what's in here," Eames said, pulling on the other latex glove. Bobby stood beside her watching her unzip the duffle. "Clothes?" she asked incredulously.

"No, this stuff is wrapped around. . . ," Bobby picked up the item on top and removed the tee shirt surrounding it, "Look at this."

"That's gorgeous. It kind of looks like that other thing. What is this?"

Bobby turned the canister shaped item in his hands, "This is, this is a myrrh container. See this, on the back, a pair of scissors would rest in this. I bet the scissors are lost."

"It looks like it matches the censer from the apartment. Is it part of a set?" Eames asked.

"It might be a set, both pieces are gold plated, the design in the enamel work is similar."

Eames removed another piece and unwound the sweatshirt swathing it, "This is really heavy, and big; it's the same as the other two pieces." She handed the piece to Bobby.

"Ah, this is a Litya. See here, these branches – the three holes hold candles. And this, this elevated tray is where the loaf sits. The containers for the oil, wine and wheat still have their lids. This is in very good condition. And valuable."

" What's all this?" Deakins asked, entering the conference room.

"These are items from the break-in with the two bodies. It looks like they are antique church things," Eames offered.

"You know about this stuff?" Deakins asked Bobby, expecting the detective to launch into a dissertation on liturgical accoutrements. He wasn't disappointed.

"So far, we have a censer, myrrh container and Litya. All of Russian origin, bearing the same plating and enamel work design. They seem to be of the same era, at least a hundred years old, probably older. These are probably stolen antiquities."

Deakins and Eames exchanged a look and nearly invisible smirk that Bobby didn't miss. "Uh, there's more in here," he said softly, reaching into the bag.

He withdrew a pair of sweatpants wrapped around a teapot-sized object. "This Zeon should have a tray with it," he said and Eames searched the duffle, lifting a flat object.

"This might be it," she said removing the undershirt. "I've seen this kind of thing; it's an icon, right?"

"Yeah, that's Bulgarian, not Russian. It's the Bulgarian Riza icon of the Mother of God – the Iveron."

Deakins couldn't resist asking, "Bobby, how do you know all of this?"

Bobby shuffled back two steps and dipped his head. "In college, I took an anthropology course – Survey of Religious Rites and Rituals. It was all about these kinds of things," he answered softly, with near embarrassment.

Deakins just shook his head and said, "What else is in there? Anything?"

Eames searched and pulled out a single sock hiding a small cross. She handed it to Bobby.

"This is a lacquered Pectoral Cross, also Russian. These items are probably stolen from a collector or museum."

"No theft notices come across, right?" Deakins asked. Both Eames and Bobby shrugged. "So what are you thinking on this?"

Eames looked to her partner; he tilted his head to the left with his right hand kneading his left. "These pieces were probably previously stolen and stashed in the apartment. The two dead men, Turnbuckle and Brine, stole them from whoever took them first. A third individual knew about their plan and waited for them to swipe the objects from the apartment and then shot them and stole the objects."

"Why would the third person then dump the items?" Eames asked.

Bobby considered a moment and then said, "I, uh, I don't know."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason walked around Macey's and found herself looking for the man and boy. Stop it, she told herself. Eventually, she began to look around at the merchandise. Gleason was not a shopper. She seldom had reason to buy anything being frugal by nature and raised with modest means.

She had never had any kind of decorative items – neither an artifact nor piece of art. She lived as though she had taken a vow of poverty until she lived with the men in her life. Gavin, Clive and Bobby each had established homes when she met them, so it was easy to slide into their abodes.

Gleason found herself in the linen department. Bobby had introduced her to what new sheets felt like; previously, she had always purchased her linens, and most other things, from charity shops. Bobby was appalled when she wanted to do so for the apartment in Evanston. As she looked at the pretty sheets and towels, an idea began to take form – she would buy a set of lovely, expensive sheets for their wedding night as a surprise for Bobby.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby checked the clock and said, "I have to head to Carver's, he wants to discuss the testimony I gave last week in case I'm recalled." He felt bad about having to leave his partner again.

"That's fine. I'm going to try to head out a little early, anyway. I'll catch up with you tomorrow. You go on and I'll get this stuff to trace."

Bobby nodded, stripped off the gloves and headed toward the bullpen. Eames was repacking the items when Sledge walked in. "So, we going to go get something to eat and talk?"

Eames finished loading up the items and said, "I need to get this to trace. I'll meet you in the deck." She looked up at him and missed him terribly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	56. Chapter 56

Designed Intent

Chapter 56

Monday Evening

Bobby and Gleason walked to Porcini's for dinner. "Let's take a cab back," Gleason said with dripping nose, "Why is it so cold?"

"I ordered this weather so I could hold you close and keep you warm," he told her hugging her tighter. "Do you want to take a cab the rest of the way?"

"No, it's just another block," she said shivering.

They arrived and were seated quickly. "So, how was your day?" Bobby asked taking her hand.

"I had a wonderful walk today. It felt good to walk so far. I fear I'll be sore tomorrow, however. I was beat when I got back." Gleason had returned to the apartment at four and felt wonderfully exhausted. She knew she should not have walked so much, but had enjoyed herself, even with the odd occurrence at the coffee shop. The new sheets were hidden in the bedroom in the bottom drawer of her chest.

"Where did you go?" he asked.

"I walked around the neighborhood and then to Fifth and looked at things in Macey's." She didn't know whether to tell him about the child she saw in the coffee shop. "What did you do today?"

Bobby relayed the details of the trashed apartment, the contents of the duffle bag, and his visit with Carver. He left out the part about the bodies.

"Well, you had a very busy day, eh?" she smiled at him and reached for his other hand.

Bobby watched her and knew there was something more she wanted to tell him. "I hope you weren't out too long in this cold," he said.

"No, I ducked into shops and I stopped in that little coffee shop with the red and white awning. I had a cuppa and brownie to warm up."

He watched her and saw her avoid looking at him. Something happened today.

"Did you need to rest or were you just cold?"

"No, no, I was just cold."

She still didn't look at him. "Did something happen?"

Her eyes snapped to his, "What do you mean?"

"At the coffee shop, did something happen? Did you have a pain, or get out of breath?"

"No, I was fine." She wouldn't look at him again and he knew for sure something had happened.

"Tell me," he said softly.

Gleason looked up at him, stared into his eyes and then looked at the tabletop. "Bobby, whilst I was sitting there, a man and a little boy came in." She raised her eyes to his, lowered her voice and said, "The child looked just like . . ." and she looked away. She had to wait a moment and then continued, ". . . he looked the child your mum described." Gleason looked at Bobby and said, "He looked like our son."

Bobby looked at her and felt a shiver of fear – Gleason was fixating on this child idea. "Honey, I'm certain he looked like the boy Mom sees, but –,"

"No, Bobby, it was him. He had the curly red hair, the grey eyes. He was very friendly; he smiled and waved at me. He kept looking at me as if he knew me."

"Sweetheart, lots of children –,"

"Bobby the man called him 'Chris.'"

Ok, this last bit was weird, "He called the boy 'Chris'?"

Gleason nodded. The server brought their meals and they ignored the food.

"Bobby, what does this mean?"

He looked at her and didn't know what to say, "I don't know, Honey, I don't know."

They sat quietly, trying to make sense of it. Finally, Gleason picked up her fork and knife and Bobby did the same.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, are we ok?" Sledge asked Alex as they sat in his car in Tarantino's parking lot after dinner.

"Edward, I, I don't know."

"I do love you, Alex," Edward said. He did. After he and Linda divorced, he didn't think he would ever want or need anyone else as their divorce was so amicable – they had made love the night their divorce was finalized.

This last trip to Toronto, however, the time he and Linda had spent together was different. They had talked and had made love, as they always did, and Edward realized that his love for Linda was changed. Alex had taken the first place in his heart. He still loved Linda, and always would, but he would love Alex first.

"Hon, I love you. Linda and I are good friends, but I love _you_."

"Do you love her?"

Edward thought a minute. "Alex, she was my wife. I loved her while we were married and still do, and probably always will, but that love is different now. Linda and I will always be friends and I love her like a friend – ok, more than a friend – but not as a lover. I won't lie to you, I love her but not like I love you."

"How do you love me?"

"Let me count the ways," he said with a smile.

"You know what I mean."

"I love you as my lover. I love you. And I think you love me." He looked at her and with a finger pulled back the curtain of hair hiding her face to behind her ear. Alex turned and looked at him. "Do you love me?" he asked.

"Yes, I love you," she said softly.

"So, we love each other. That's good. Hon, I don't want Linda between us. She is an entire, separate part, a small part, of my life. I want _us_ to have a life together."

Alex sighed and said, "She'll always be there, won't she?"

"It's not like you think. Linda is not 'the other woman.' It's different now. I'll admit, until you and I got together, I thought maybe Linda and I might get back together. But she didn't want that and now I don't either. I have you. I want you. I love you, Alex."

Alex knew he was telling the truth and she loved him for his honesty. She believed him. And she loved him.

"So, are we ok?" he asked, rubbing his thumb over the back of her neck.

Alex nodded and Sledge pulled her close and kissed her sweetly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby stood behind her at the bathroom sink, nibbling her neck. Gleason looked at him, them, in the mirror and her heart soared. This man will be my husband, she thought. We will be together forever; nothing will ever come between us ever again.

Bobby looked up and saw her watching him, "What are you thinking?" he whispered, looking at her in the mirror.

"How much I love you. How we will be together forever. How nothing will ever come between us."

"I love you," he said simply.

"I love you more," she replied. Gleason stepped away from him, stepped into the hall and pulled the bathroom door shut behind her. She crossed to her side of the bed, undressed, and crawled in. Bobby came from the bathroom and she watched him undress. His body was magnificent, large, strong, and her eyes dipped to his firming penis.

They immediately embraced and his mouth opened on hers, their tongues lapping at each other's. Gleason reached for his dick and he bent away from her grasp. "No, no. Let me make you come to be sure you're ok; so I can stop if you have trouble," he said.

"Bobby, I'm fine. I want us to come together. I want you in me, to come in me. I want to make love with you," she replied softly.

He looked into her eyes, so uncertain. Gleason reached for him again and he jerked slightly at her touch and then slid toward her, moving between her spreading legs. "Oh, God I love you, I love you so much," he whispered into her neck. His breathing quickened and he knew he had to slow down; he was ready to come right now, her magic hand was moving him to the edge.

Gleason wanted him so badly, she wanted to feel him in her, all the way up, sliding in and out, fucking her. She wanted to come.

Bobby's mouth moved to her breast and he nibbled, licked and sucked. Gleason groaned, arched and pressed her breast against his open mouth. He moved from her breast to her stomach, licking and nibbling and continued to her nest.

Gleason's place ached for his touch. "Lick me," she breathed, "Lick me there."

Bobby loved to hear her talk like this. Her voice, what she said, aroused him when they spoke on the phone at night in bed, his hand on himself so often. He pulled his pillow to her hips and lifted her bottom upon it. Her swollen lips were right there, juice seeping from between them. Gleason's hand reached for his head, pulling at his hair, "Eat me. Please," she whispered, pushing herself toward him.

His thumbs spread her lips and she gasped. Slowly, slowly he inserted one finger and Gleason groaned from her throat, a deep feral sound. "What do you want?" he asked her as he slowly withdrew his finger and pushed it back in. "Tell me what to do." He wanted to hear her talk dirty.

"Ungh, fu-, fuck me. Fuck me with your tongue," her voice breathy and urgent.

Bobby felt his dick harden and stretch even more. He moved his mouth closer and exhaled on her place, gently kissed her opening, and then dragged his tongue over her hole and rubbed her clit with it. Gleason arched and moaned.

"Good?"

"Oh, god, fuck me," she groaned deeply with her head arching back.

"Tell me how."

"Lick me, lick my pussy." Gleason knew what her words did to him and she liked to make him feel that way. She enjoyed being that potty mouth for him; it made her hot as well.

His dick twitched at those words and he drew his tongue over her, licking, nipping, sucking, but not entering her.

"Like this?" he breathed.

"Put your tongue in me, fuck me with your tongue," she answered pushing herself toward him, wanting more. Gleason groaned and said, "I want to come, make me come with your tongue. Fuck me!"

Drips of cum dropped onto the sheet under him and his hips began to move. He rubbed his tongue over her place and then shot it into her, as far as it would go. He waggled it and Gleason pulled at his head as she ground out her orgasm against his mouth. She bucked and growled deeply, from her throat. He fought his orgasm, wanting to wait for her to finish, to be certain she was ok; then he would bring her again with his dick in her slit.

Slowly Gleason settled and Bobby wiped his mouth and chin with the edge of the sheet, "Are you all right?" he asked her, looking at her, watching her breathing slow. "Honey, are you ok?"

Gleason opened her eyes, looked at him, and said, "More, I want more."

Bobby smiled, kissed her and said, "Put me in you." Gleason reached for his cock and felt it twitch and begin to jerk in her hand. "Hurry, inside!"

Gleason set him against her opening and he shoved all the way up, growling, "You're so fucking hot inside!" He pulled a bit, shoved and grunted; pulled a bit, shoved and grunted. He pulled and shoved once more then rose up on his knees, holding her hips against him, grunting and jerking in time with his dick shooting cum up into her. "Oh, gaw-aw-aw--!" he groaned.

Gleason watched him come and it set off her orgasm. He was huge and she felt him jerk and move inside. She pushed against him, squeezing and pulling him from within. She continued as Bobby finished, her inner muscles tugging on his softening dick, milking him.

Bobby opened his eyes and stared at her as she settled, slowly his gasps eased to breaths and he watched her relax and calm. "Are you still ok?" he asked softly, pushing hair from her face.

Gleason looked up at him and said with a smile, "You're still inside me."

"I know."

"Get hard again for me.

asdfasdf 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	57. Chapter 57

Designed Intent

Chapter 57

Tuesday Morning

Gleason decided to stay in as her hips and legs were a bit sore from her excursion the day before and had gone back to bed after Bobby left for work. She had not dreamt the night before and wanted to see if she would this morning.

She cuddled with Bobby's pillow, hugging it as she did him. Thoughts of their lovemaking last night came back to her. Remembering what they had done thrilled her and she knew she could pleasure herself again with those thoughts and her fingers. God how she loved making love with Bobby, he was an incredible lover – generous, intuitive and adventurous.

She thought of their coming life together. She would make him happy. In every way, she would make him happy. He deserved to be happy. He had shared little of what his childhood was like and she sensed the rest from spending time with his mother. She would ensure happiness in the rest of his life.

Gleason thought about her name – 'Gleason Goren', 'Gleason Wintermantle-Goren' – nope, she would remain 'Gleason Wintermantle' and claim professional reasons. Bobby would be ok with that, she reasoned. Most of everything was already in both of their names. She had arranged to have her pay deposited into Bobby's checking and savings accounts when she had given up her campus apartment while at Brookbine. That had continued now that she was at Northwestern; he took care of all of their finances anyway.

She would continue at Northwestern. They would make it work. Like Bobby said when she first told him about taking the job there: this is where she lives, Evanston is where she works.

Slowly, eventually, Gleason fell asleep; but she did not dream.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday Afternoon

"What do we know about Turnbuckle and Brine?"

"Turnbuckle has a list of priors from four states going back twenty some years."

"What about Brine?"

Eames read, "Brine was a Jesuit priest until he was asked to leave five years ago."

Bobby looked up at this, "Why was he asked to leave?"

"His file doesn't specify. Since then, he has been working the docks. That is probably where he met Turnbuckle. He doesn't even have any parking citations. He was clean."

"Let's go talk to their co-workers at the dock."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Naw, Brine was a good guy, quiet, kept to himself. He was always on time, never missed, polite, respectful. He was a nice man."

"What about Turnbuckle?" Eames talked with the supervisor as Bobby stood nearby, listening.

"He was a trouble maker, hot head, always mouthing off. I'm surprised Brine was even with Turnbuckle, they were very different people."

"Thank you, we'll be in touch"

As they headed to the car, Bobby said, "Uh, let's go to St. Martin's. I want to talk with Fr. Picard."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Bobby! Bobby Goren! How are you?"

"Fr. Picard, I'm glad you're here. Can we talk with you for a few minutes? Is this a good time?"

"Of course, Bobby, of course. Come in, come in." Fr. Picard stepped back from the open rectory door and Eames stepped through, then Bobby.

"Uh, Father, this is my partner, Detective Alex Eames. This is Father Picard."

The priest shook Eames' hand, "Good to meet you. You protect this big lug? Why, you are just a tiny thing. Isn't she Bobby?"

Eames went six shades of red, Bobby looked at the floor, two stepped in a square, and Fr. Picard turned and said over his shoulder, "Come this way." Then the priest hollered to the kitchen, "Sara, we have guests."

A plump woman of about the same age as the priest entered the den, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Sara, these are two detectives. Would you be a dear and get us some coffee?" The priest indicated to two wingback chairs and the detectives sat.

"I have fresh peach pie cooling on the table. Would you like a piece?" she asked the group.

Fr. Picard smiled broadly and said, "That sounds good, what do you say?"

Bobby would have liked a piece but declined when he stole a look at Eames, she never accepted food on the job, not even coffee.

"All right then, just coffee, please, Sara."

Sara nodded and waddled back to the kitchen.

Eames began with, "Father, we'd like to run some things by you, if you don't mind."

Fr. Picard shifted his gaze from Bobby to his tiny partner, "What can I do for you two?"

Eames said, "We're investigating the deaths of two men, one of whom served as a Jesuit priest up until five years ago."

"Yes?"

Eames hesitated and then said to Bobby, "Why don't you explain to the Father how you see him helping?"

"Uh, yeah, this is about yesterday's shooting and the theft of those altar items. The one victim, a Sylvester Brine, has no priors and was a Jesuit until five years ago; his co-workers claim he and the other victim, Melvin Turnbuckle, were like night and day. Turnbuckle has a sheet an inch thick."

"Yes, but how can I help you?"

"Well, I'm not sure, really. They are thought to have been shot by a third individual. Uh, Major Case was brought in because of the load of altar items, a myrrh container, Litya, the Riza Icon, and the like, that they stole. The items were stashed in the apartment they burgled."

The old priest looked from one to the other, "I still don't see how you think I can help you." Sara returned with a tray of cups and fixings. Fr. Picard helped himself, as did Bobby, while Eames smiled her decline.

Eames replied, "We'd like you to direct us as to where we can find out about this Sylvester Brine while he was a priest. He was asked to leave the clergy and we want to know why."

"Oh, well, those kinds of things are kept confidential, I'm afraid. I'm not sure I can help you with that, sorry." He smiled sadly and sipped his coffee.

"I see, well," Eames continued, "what can you tell us about the stolen items? We have no reports of missing liturgical items. We're kind of stumped here, Father, right Bobby?"

Her partner nodded, set down his cup and opened his folder, withdrawing several photos. "Father, these are photos of the recovered items." He handed to stack to the priest and then stood beside the older man, looking over his shoulder. "They are all Russian except for that one, the Icon of the –,"

"Yes, the Iveron."

"You know these pieces?" Eames asked.

"Oh, yes. Yes I do, young lady." Fr. Picard was quiet a moment and then said softly, "You have these pieces, Bobby? At the police station? They are safe?"

"Yes, Father, they are locked up in an evidence bin. What can you tell us about them?"

The priest went through the photos again, staring at each one. The detectives shared a glance, waiting for the man to continue. "Do you know who stole these? Have you caught him yet?" Fr. Picard asked.

"Uh, no, that's why we came to you. They were in a duffle bag dumped a few blocks from the two murdered men. A matching censer was found in a trashed apartment. It apparently was missed in the robbery."

"The two men, what were their names again?"

"Melvin Turnbuckle and Sylvester Brine; Brine had been a Jesuit until five years ago," Eames offered.

Bobby returned to his seat and the priest stood up, handed Bobby the photos and crossed to his desk. Again, Eames and Bobby shared a look. The old priest removed a key from the center desk drawer and unlocked the lower left hand drawer. "Here, Bobby, help me with this box, will you?"

Bobby rose and went to the priest. He lifted a heavy metal box from the drawer and set it on the desktop. "Thank you. Give me a moment to find it." Bobby returned to his seat and the detectives watched the old man remove file after file, studying each one before setting it aside. "Ah, yes, here it is." Fr. Picard turned with an old fashioned, brown folder tied with a narrow length of brown cotton ribbon. "Here, this is it."

He returned to his seat and untied the ribbon, removing a thick stack of papers. He set the folder on the floor and the stack on the coffee table between them. "Yuri Sylwester Brinosovich, that's the original name of your dead former Jesuit. A brilliant man, brilliant. He wrote volumes of philosophy, theology, and his area of expertise – ancient Eastern religious liturgical ware."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby spent every available hour researching the one thing that was the hardest to find. Dogged determination and a gift for sleuthing helped him locate what would probably bring Gleason to tears. He was so happy that he had thought of it. Tim said he could add what Bobby wanted using a jeweler's laser. Tim was impressed when Bobby told him what it was.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday Morning

"I brought Gleason home this weekend," Bobby told Dr. Stephens.

"How is she doing?"

"Fine, uh fine."

Dr. Stephens heard the hesitation and waited for him to continue.

"Uh, there is one thing, though." Bobby sat on the edge of the seat, elbows on his knees, fingers laced, looking at the floor. "We, uh, Gleason and I seem to have had parts of the same dream the other night."

Dr. Stephens was intrigued as she had a whole theoretical mind set when it came to dreams. This was a particular area of interest for her. She waited again for him to continue.

Bobby sat back and told his psychiatrist about the dreams. Then he relayed Gleason's tale concerning the little boy in the coffee shop. Bobby confessed his confusion.

"How does Gleason feel about all of this?"

"She's convinced that the boy in my mother's hallucination, the child in the dreams, and the kid in the coffee shop are all the baby she miscarried. She said he wants to be born."

"What do you think?"

Bobby struggled. "I, I fear Gleason is fixating on this child. Could this be some kind of delayed reaction to the miscarriage? Some kind of guilt or something?" Bobby looked at the good doctor with desperate eyes.

She saw his concern. Dr. Stephens was fascinated; she wanted to, needed to, speak with Gleason. "I don't know, Robert. What have you told her?"

"I don't know what to tell her. I have to say, I was impartial about it all until she told me the man called the boy 'Chris.'" Bobby reminded Dr. Stephens about the child's name his mother had told them about. "Now, I don't know what to say to her."

"Has she brought it up since it happened?"

"No, she hasn't actually."

"Perhaps it's passed." They were both silent for a moment. "Robert, do you think Gleason would agree to speak with me about this?"

Bobby stood and moved to the bookcases – his avoidance tactic. He stood with his back to her, hands in his pockets, thinking. "I don't know, Dr. Stephens. Things are so good. I, I don't want to upset her."

"That's fine. Not a problem."

He turned and spoke from where he stood, "She would be so upset knowing you and I are talking about her like this." Bobby wiped his hands over his face. "I don't want to upset her. I love her so much." He whispered this last bit.

Dr. Stephens watched the tall man and thought how lucky his woman was to be loved by a man like him. "I understand, Robert."

Bobby returned to his seat and asked, "So, is it a delayed reaction to the miscarriage?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	58. Chapter 58

Designed Intent

Chapter 58

Thursday Morning

"The reports from trace are back," Eames said, opening the folder an assistant handed to her. She read for a minute and then added, "Well, this is interesting."

Bobby looked up and waited.

"The fingerprints on the items belong to a Boris Krezemsky."

"Who's he?"

"A Russian thief of some repute; he has priors for fencing antiquities." Eames looked up at her partner, "Let's see where he might be." She fired up her computer and initiated a search.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The weather was still nippy when Gleason headed out for her walk midmorning, but it was warmer than Tuesday had been. Her plan was to shop for a new shell; she had decided to wear her ecru linen suit for their wedding, the one she wore for her interview at Northwestern. She was excited about absolutely everything and smiled as she walked. She crossed Ninth to Eighth, turned left, and found herself heading toward the coffee shop where she saw the little boy named Chris. The red and white awnings were up ahead and she was tempted to stop.

Don't be silly, she told herself, it was a coincidence. Bobby was right; many children are friendly that way. It was nothing. Gleason walked past the coffee shop and headed toward Fifth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday Noon

Bobby and Eames went to the New Market Deli for lunch. Eames was delighted that the 'old Bobby' seemed to be back.

"So, what's new in Bobby-land?" she asked, using her term when referring to his private life. He rarely shared anything.

Bobby unwrapped his pastrami on rye and reached for the yellow mustard. Eames saw him smile and blush, "Bobby? What's up?"

He concentrated on dripping dots of mustard on his sandwich, flipped shut the lid, set it back beside the ketchup and finally looked at her, still smiling – smirking actually, "Nothing's up. How are you and Sledge getting along?"

For the next twenty minutes, the partners talked about Sledge – as a detective, as a friend, and as a boyfriend. Eames was surprised that Bobby was so willing to discuss such personal things; generally, he had a mile-wide barrier about personal topics.

Eames provided quite an insight into the man Bobby had hated for years; she confided in him as a sister to a brother. Bobby had no idea Sledge could be such a nice, good guy. It was this very deli where Bobby and Sledge had come clean with each other. Bobby realized Edward Sledge would be a good man for his tiny partner.

The pair was quiet as they walked back to One Police Plaza. Bobby struggled with whether to say anything to his partner. He felt almost obligated to tell Eames about his plans to marry Gleason. Eames waited for Bobby to pull open the door to the huge lobby. He hesitated with his hand on the door.

"Uh, Eames, I, I want to tell you something." Bobby's hand dropped from the door handle and he stuffed both into his pockets. He nodded to the left, off to the side of the entering and exiting traffic.

Eames looked at him and followed. "What?"

Bobby ran his hand over the top of his head and then crossed his arms. He leaned against the railing and glanced at his partner. "Gleason and I are getting married."

Eames wasn't sure she heard him correctly, "What?"

"Gleason and I are getting married. Don't, don't say anything to any one, ok?"

She could not believe it. Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him with eyes the size of dinner plates. "Oh. My. God. Bobby! When?"

He went six shades of red and uncrossed his arms. "A week from tomorrow. Don't say anything, ok?"

She was stunned silent for a minute and then said, "I have to tell Edward. Does the Captain know?"

Both hands went up in front of his chest, palms out, "Look, don't tell Sledge. I wasn't going to say anything until afterward, but I figured . . . you're my partner and, and friend – don't tell anyone else, ok?"

Eames grabbed his coat sleeve and tugged on it. "I cannot believe it. Bobby, I cannot keep this from Edward. Let me tell him. Are you going to tell the Captain? You have to tell Deakins."

Bobby was afraid of this. Gleason would kill him for even telling Eames. Although they had not talked about not telling anyone, except his mother. "Eames, I, we, we don't want this to be a big deal. Ok? Don't tell any one."

Eames looked up at him and growled. "God you can be infuriating."

"Ok, you won't say anything? Right?"

"Come on," she said with abject exasperation. She knew she would tell Sledge and Bobby did, too.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late Thursday Afternoon

After work, and before heading home, Bobby stopped at the dry cleaners and dropped off his blue-black suit, the one he wore on their first date. Then, he drove to a florist and ordered a spectacular wedding bouquet of autumn wildflowers for Gleason, tied with narrow, Black Watch tartan ribbons. The florist suggested including rooted ivy for planting after the wedding and Bobby asked if a sprig of thistle could be included as well.

Without talking to him, and from a different florist, Gleason ordered Bobby an autumnal boutonnière, which included ivy and dried thistle tied with narrow, Black Watch tartan ribbons.

Bobby did not tell Gleason that he had reserved the bridal suite at the Waldorf Astoria for the following Saturday night with a Sunday afternoon checkout. A bottle of champagne, fruit basket, chocolate strawberries, box of erotica, and in-room breakfast were included. Bobby was intrigued with and curious about the 'box of erotica.'

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday Night

Bobby lay waiting for her as she prepared for bed. "Don't wear your nightgown tonight," he said softly as she took it from the drawer. Her face broke into a shy smile and she refolded it and returned it.

She came around the bed and climbed in. They embraced and Bobby pulled his head back to see her, brushing hair from her face with his right hand. "I love you," he said.

"I love you more," she answered.

"I told Eames about the wedding." He searched her face for a reaction.

"Was she surprised?"

Bobby's relief was inward, his fear of her being upset was more than he had realized.

He smiled broadly and said, "You could say she was surprised."

"Do you think it will make the morning paper?" Gleason joked.

"Well, I swore her to secrecy."

"Ah, then, it will only make the Associated Press, not the International."

Bobby kissed her gently.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Morning

Bobby walked from the coffee room carrying his coffee cup and Eames' cup with a tea bag string hanging from it.

Sledge wandered over and nudged Bobby's arm with his elbow, causing coffee to slurp over onto Bobby's hand.

"Hey, watch it."

"Practicing for breakfast in bed?" Sledge asked with a snarky smile.

Bobby rolled his eyes. He knew she would tell.

"Here," Bobby said, handing Eames her cup. She took it with a huge smile and thanks.

"So, next Saturday, huh?" Sledge asked.

Bobby sat and glared playfully at his partner. "I see what secrecy means to you," he said, setting down his cup and then shuffling folders, digging for his portfolio.

"You knew I would tell him. So, have you told Deakins?"

"Haven't you?" he asked.

Sledge laughed, "Ha! Good one." The three were quiet for a moment. Then Sledge said, "Alex wants me to ask you if you are going on a honeymoon."

"I _did not_ ask you to ask him that! I wondered, that's all."

Bobby ignored them both with a slight smile.

"Well, are you?" Sledge asked.

"What's going on here? Solving something?" Deakins asked.

The trio looked at the boss as though caught doing something naughty. "Uh, yeah, Eames and I were going to go over something that came through on the fax," Sledge said to the Captain. Then to Alex he said, "You coming?"

Alex stood with her cup and the pair moved toward Sledge's desk. "What's up with them?" he asked Bobby.

"Uh, Captain, can I have a word in your office?"

"Sure."

Five minutes later, Deakins was shaking Bobby's hand and clapping him on the back. "She's a good woman, Bobby. You are lucky to have each other."

"Thank you, Captain, thank you."

"Are you going to take some time? Going somewhere nice for a honeymoon?"

"No, no. I, I don't have any time built up yet. We haven't really even talked about it. We'll probably do something this summer while Gleason's on break. I'd like to take her back home to Scotland for a visit."

Deakins looked at his best detective and shook his head. "This is wonderful, Bobby, wonderful. Have you told anyone but those two?"

"No, no. I'd appreciate your confidence as well, Captain."

"Certainly. You know I have to tell Angie, though, right? She'd kill me if I didn't tell her."

"Sure, sure. Well, I should get back to work."

They shook hands again and they returned to their business.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	59. Chapter 59

Designed Intent

Chapter 59

Friday Midmorning

"What else did you find on that Russian?" Deakins asked.

"Which one," Eames answered with a smirk.

"Both, each – what did you find out?"

"Trace found a hair in the tee shirt that wrapped one of the items in the duffle and the DNA shows it belongs to Krezemsky. So, that means he probably wrapped up the items."

"Did he steal them?" Deakins asked.

"Uh, we're not sure; possibly or, he's a middleman. We're still working out that bit."

"Another interesting thing trace found is capsaicin on the legs of the sweatpants," Eames offered. "It's the chemical compound that makes some foods hot, like chilies."

"It's an ingredient in taco chips," Bobby added.

"Taco chips?" Deakins pondered aloud. "Are you saying this Krezemsky guy is the shooter of those three murders from a few weeks ago?"

"Could be," Bobby answered. Eames nodded agreement.

"So, we may have solved five murders and an antiquities theft. Good work. But now go prove it and keep me informed."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Afternoon

"Gleason! Hi, Bobby told me the exciting news!" Eames said, coming from Sledge's desk. Her partner's lover stood next to his desk, looking around.

"Alex, hello. Yes, he said he told you." Gleason looked to the floor and went red. "I'm to meet him here. Is he around?"

"Yes, he's in with the Captain. Here, sit down," Alex pulled over the chair from the next desk and Gleason sat. "So, how are you feeling? Excited?"

"I'm fine thank you, much better. And, yes, excited. And nervous a bit. Oh, here he is." Gleason's face lit up as she saw Bobby cross from Deakins' office. She stood and Alex turned, Bobby's face radiated love for this woman.

"Hi, Honey," he said, touching her arm briefly.

"Well, here's our good professor," Deakins said, the joy apparent in his voice. "How are you doing? Getting excited?"

"I'm fine, Captain, much better. Thank you. And, yes, excited." Gleason repeated with a smile, looking then up at Bobby.

"What brings you to the bull pen?" Deakins asked, genuinely delighted to see Gleason.

"Uh, well, we, we have some things to do, so," Bobby looked at the floor, ran a hand over the top of his head and down his neck and two-stepped shyly, "are you ready?" he asked Gleason, glancing at her in that sidelong way. Deakins and Eames saw them both blush.

"Yes, yes, I'm ready whenever you are," she answered. She hadn't stopped smiling.

"Ok, then, let's, uh, let's go." Bobby stepped to the coat tree, retrieved his overcoat and laid it over his arm.

"Good to see you both," Gleason said in departing. Both Eames and Deakins nodded in response. Bobby smiled and put his hand in the small of Gleason's back and together they walked toward the elevators.

Eames and Deakins watched the pair depart and then looked at each other, smiling broadly, neither saying aloud what they thought – they're going to the courthouse.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did you bring everything?" he asked her as he parked in the lot reserved for police vehicles.

"Yes, I brought it all – my passport, work visa, green card, pay stub, university photo id, driver's license, and your passport and birth certificate as well – you left them on the table this morning. And, I got the money order. Do you know they charge you an additional seven dollars for a money order? That's outrageous."

He smiled at her and said, "Thank you, Sweetheart. Ok, let's go." Bobby set the OPB sign in the window and they walked inside.

They waited in line at the Birth, Death and Wedding Certificate window and Bobby hoped he would not run into anyone he knew.

"Bobby Goren!" a voice boomed from behind him. Bobby groaned and shut his eyes. Gleason peeked from around him and saw a tall, imposing older man in a dark suit approaching.

Bobby turned and was relieved to see Judge Weisenstein striding toward the couple with his hand out. "Bobby! So, you're really going to do this, are you?"

Bobby took the other man's hand and they shook. "Yes, Judge. Uh, Judge, this is Gleason Wintermantle, my, my fiancé. Gleason, this is Judge Weisenstein, he'll be marrying us."

"Well, you're the one to make this man so happy, are you?" he said taking her hand and shaking it. "Bobby tells me you are a professor at Northwestern."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Judge. Yes, I teach in the ancient studies program there."

"So, you two getting the paperwork done, are you? Come on, no need for you to wait out here; let's go get this done in my office. Did you bring all the paperwork?" The trio turned and headed to the judge's chambers.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Evening

"Have you thought about what you'll wear, Love," Gleason said to him as they cleared the table after dinner. Gleason had found a lovely, lined white silk shell with a trace of beadwork along the neckline. The neckline sat just right and the beading made it lay perfectly on her bosom. Gleason considered getting a bra – her first – and fancy panties as well.

"I don't have to wear a kilt, do I?" he asked with a smile.

"Oh, I would _love_ to see that! You know what a Scotsman wears 'neath his kilt now, do you?" she replied embracing him and then taking his goods through his jeans.

Bobby gasped, jerked and answered, "I've heard the rumors. What are you doing?" he said with a smile and pulled her close.

"I'm checking to see what I might find 'neath your kilt." She pulled his head to hers and kissed him deeply.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday Morning

"Are you going for a walk today?" Bobby asked, coming into the kitchen.

She turned from preparing his travel mug and said, "Yes. Can I do something for you whilst I'm out?"

Bobby took her in his arms and said, "Would you get me a new white shirt? With French cuffs?"

"Of course!" Gleason was excited to do this for him. It was the first time he asked her to do anything for him. And to buy him a shirt! What a wifely thing to do. She beamed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday Midmorning

Estella arrived after Gleason had left. "Dis plate so clean! Mitter Bobby id a clean freak after hid party time." She no longer found empty whisky, scotch and beer bottles and she refused to think about the used condom in his handkerchief that she had found while Gleason was still in Evanston. Her Mitter Bobby was a good man, a man nonetheless, but a good man.

She went into the bedroom to get his laundry and saw that it was already done except for a few items in the basket in the closet, two of them Gleason's. "Oh! Mitter Bobby lady id home! Otay, dat a good ting. She id good for him. He need her here. He lub her toe much. I put on deh nice sheets for dem."

Gleason kept the apartment spotless and enjoyed the work. Bobby's place was barely larger than her tiny place in Evanston, so it was easy to maintain. Estella would have little to do while Gleason was home these few weeks.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday Afternoon

"Monday would be fine . . . Sure, we can be here at one. Just check in at the lobby and they'll give you a visitor's pass. Take the elevator to the eleventh floor and turn left and then left again. I'll watch for you . . . Ok, see you Monday at one. Bye." Bobby hung up and said to Eames, "That was Fr. Picard. He's coming here to talk with us about Brine."

"Hope he can tell us something," Eames replied.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Morning

"We have to work only a half day today," Bobby said over his shoulder, sitting on the edge of the bed putting on his shoes. "Want to go see Mom this afternoon?"

Gleason stretched luxuriously, relishing in post coital bliss. "Certainly. Then we can come home and get back into bed."

Bobby finished slipping on his shoe and turned around, "Is my bride-to-be still horny?"

"Yes," she replied with a shy smile.

Gleason watched him glance at the clock, hesitate, and then reach for his top button. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, "you get on to work! I can wait for you."

"Are you sure?"

Gleason sat up with a smile. "Bobby! I'm not some hound. Go! I'll wait right here for you so we can have a quickie afore we see your mum," she joked. "Now go."

Bobby leaned over and kissed her. Gleason's kiss went deeper, her tongue slipping between his lips and she heard him moan slightly. "You be careful today," she said smiling at him.

Bobby stood and she saw the tent in the front of his trousers. "I love you," he said.

"Go," she replied with a smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Afternoon

Gleason was dressed and ready to go when Bobby arrived home at about one.

"I thought we were going to have a quickie when I got home," Bobby said with mock disappointment.

"Well, things kind of took care of themselves," she said reddening.

"Sweetheart did you . . . ?" he asked bending to look into her face, somewhat surprised.

"Oh, come on, you do it; we both do it on the phone," she replied, stepping past him.

"Yeah, well . . . you know, it's kind of sexy knowing that you do that," he took her in his arms and kissed her lightly.

"Come on; let's go see your mum. Then maybe we can get some lunch?"

"Let's get some lunch and then go see Mom."

They stopped at a little place on the way and an hour later, arrived at Carmel Ridge. Mrs. Goren was dozing in her chair when they walked in.

"Mom?" Bobby said softly, touching his mother lightly on the shoulder. She didn't rouse. "Mom?" he said again and crouched in front of her.

A rush of fear ran through him and he glanced up at Gleason. She saw his fear and stepped to his side. "Mrs. Goren, we're here to see you. Mrs. Goren? Bobby is here." Gleason stroked the old woman's arm as she spoke and Frances slowly opened her eyes and then looked straight at Bobby; it seemed she didn't know who he was.

"Mom, how do you feel?" She looked ashen and thin. Frances looked from Bobby to Gleason and shifted in her seat. "Mom, it's me Bobby."

Frances blinked a few times and then said, "Oh, yeah, Bobby; it's about time you got here. I fell asleep waiting for you. What took you so long? Is Frank with you?"

Bobby was relieved his mother came around, but her tone disturbed him. Her pallor and frailty worried him.

"No, Gleason is with me. How do you feel? Are you all right?"

"Oh, Gleason! Bobby get her a chair, she doesn't need to stand there. Be a gentleman for goodness sake. I raised you better than that. How are you, Dear?"

"Fine, Mrs. Goren, I 'm fine. How are you doing?"

"Me, well I guess I'm ok. There, Bobby, get the other chair for yourself. Yes, I guess I'm ok. The food here sucks, though."

Gleason stifled a guffaw at Frances's choice of words. Bobby sat finally and looked at his mother with wrinkled brow. He would speak with someone about his mother's health before leaving today; something wasn't right with her.

"Bobby, I've been meaning to talk with you about something."

"What's that, Mom?"

"We need some new books. Christian told me he wants some new books. Get us some new ones, ok? And buy them so we can keep them. Get that one with all the nursery rhymes in it; remember? That big thick one; that one we had when you and Frank were kids. Little kids need to learn the nursery rhymes. Frank knew them all by heart. You knew them, too. Christian would like that." She looked at her hands in her lap and grew quiet.

Bobby looked at his mother and worried, "Ok, Mom, I'll get you some new books. I'll get one with nursery rhymes, too."

It appeared as though Mrs. Goren had fallen asleep.

Bobby sat back in his chair, right ankle over his left knee, fingers tented in front of his lips. Gleason watched him and shared his worry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	60. Chapter 60

7

Designed Intent

Chapter 60

Monday Midmorning

"Do you know Melvin Turnbuckle and Sylvester Brine?" Bobby, Eames and Krezemsky sat in one of the interrogation rooms.

"I know no such people," Krezemsky responded with a Russian accent.

"No, see, we think you do," Eames interjected. "In fact, we think you ambushed those two, shot them dead and then stole the duffle full of ancient Russian liturgical items."

The Russian shook his head, "Pretty little detective, I ambush no one. What, New York is now the Wild West with ambushes?" He scoffed his disdain.

"Do you know these people?" Bobby placed the eight-by-ten black and white photos of the three murder victims found that Friday night and early Saturday morning several weeks ago.

"I do not know these dead people."

"Are you hungry?" Bobby asked suddenly.

The Russian looked up at him and asked, "What?"

"Are you hungry? I'm a little hungry. Eames are you hungry?"

Alex nodded with a smile and answered, "As a matter of fact, I am. What about you, Krezemsky? You hungry, too?"

Bobby reached under the table and picked up a bag of taco chips, pulled it open and shook several on the tabletop. "Here, help yourself." Bobby took one and ate it; Eames did the same. "Go on, don't be shy. Have some, they're good." Bobby ate another. "You like taco chips, don't you?"

Krezemsky looked at the two detectives and shook his head with disbelief.

"No, go on. These are really good. Go on," Bobby urged.

The Russian looked at each of them again and then took a chip. He ate it and then wiped his fingers on his thigh. Bobby watched the man leave a smear of taco chip residue in exactly the same spot as on the sweatpants.

Bobby pulled out a chair and sat, pointing at each of the photos with the little finger of his right hand, "So, you don't know these guys?"

Krezemsky shook his head, took another chip and said, "No, I don't know these guys," and he popped the chip into his mouth.

"You don't know Turnbuckle, Brine or these three guys?" Eames said. Krezemsky shook his head.

"Are you thirsty? These chips are making me thirsty. My partner and I will go get us something to drink. Stay put, we'll be right back." Bobby and Alex stood, taking his folder and the photos, and left.

Inside the watch room, Deakins said, "I must be missing something. What are you trying to show with the chips?"

"He wiped his fingers in the same spot as where chip residue was found on the sweatpants," Bobby explained.

"Proving what? I wipe my fingers on my thigh, too. Bobby, you're going to have to do better than that. Carver would laugh at that attempt at evidence gathering."

Bobby felt bad about the Captain's disdain. "I'll get more, don't worry."

"It's early in the game, Captain. We're just warming up," Eames added. She had to agree with the Captain, the chip tactic was lame; but she wanted to support Bobby.

"Well, get on him. I want to close those five murders and the theft." Deakins crossed his arms and looked at the suspect on the other side of the glass.

Eames held three bottles of water and the pair returned to the interrogation room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason answered her cell on the second ring; she didn't recognize the number. "Hello? . . . "That's wonderful! Two? . . . Oh, this is terrific! Thank you so much. . . . Yes, I'll be there afore noon. Thank you."

Gleason finished straightening the bed, pulled one of Bobby's sweatshirts over her turtleneck, tied up her shoes and headed to the rare bookstore to look at a possible gift for Bobby.

The bookstore found two different Rueben Lesky first editions and Gleason was ecstatic. She purchased both and decided to give one as a wedding gift to Bobby and keep the other for his birthday. She hoped they were not counterfeit!

Gleason walked three blocks to a stationer's and purchased lovely papers to wrap them, adhesive seals to close them and ribbon to tie them. Then she searched nearly every card in the shop and could not find what she wanted. So, she purchased two blank cards with magnificent watercolor art on the fronts and decided to write the verses herself.

She had never felt happier or healthier – she positively glowed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh, Sweet Pea, Gramma is so tired. Let's read a book later, ok? Gramma needs to take a nap right now. Come sit on my l- . . ." and Mrs. Goren was asleep.

Christian stood by his Gramma's chair looking up at her. The pink and yellow light around her was thin and pale, fading. He knew fading was not a good thing, fading meant the end. Gramma was sick; she would be sick for a long time and would not get better. The child sat and watched her. Daddy will cry, he thought. Mommy will cry, too, for Gramma and for Daddy. The little boy sat and cried for all of them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mr. Krezemsky, my partner and I, we, we haven't been completely honest with you." Bobby said, twisting the lid back onto his bottle of water.

Krezemsky finished taking a swig from his bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "How so?" he asked.

"Well, you see. We know that you know Turnbuckle and Brine."

"You do? How you know this?"

"When you shot them, someone heard the shots and came to see what happened. He knelt down beside Brine and Brine told him that you were the shooter. The witness gave a nearly verbatim account of what Brine told him. Brine gave a, you know, sort of a deathbed confession. We have the witness's account on tape if you'd like to hear it. It's, uh, it's pretty damaging."

Krezemsky couldn't believe it – Brinosovich gave him up! The bastard. "What did he say?"

Eames replied with, "In a nutshell, he said you orchestrated the theft of the antiquities, using others to do the actual heist – probably those three other victims you shared taco chips with"

"Residue of capsaician, one of the chemicals in the spices used to flavor taco chips was found on the hands of each of the three victims. It was also found on the sweatpants used to wrap the items. Your sweatpants," Bobby added.

"Taco chips? Sweatpants? You are crazy. You have no evidence." Krezemsky winched inwardly, though – those goddamn chips. He and the three thieves had shared a bag the night they told him the relics were gathered. He had changed his clothes and stuffed the sweatpants and tee shirt he had removed into the duffle bag and gave them the bag to hide the items. Bobby caught the change in the man's demeanor and knew he had him.

Eames continued, "You told the three to stash the items in the apartment. Then you cleaned house by killing them, the actual thieves. Next, you told Turnbuckle about the loot who told Brine – an expert in this kind of merchandise, by the way. You knew Turnbuckle was a two-taker, a thief of thieves, and that he could not resist swiping the goods. You let him do it and then killed him and Brine, and ran off with the items."

Bobby picked up the story with, "So, you are an accessory to theft, a thief in your own right, and a murderer to boot – the felony trifecta." Bobby nodded in mock appreciation.

"This is bullshit," the Russian spit out.

"Uh, I don't think so. Your best bet is to confess and accept a plea bargain." Bobby let this reality set in for a moment. "So, what's it going to be? You 'fessing up?"

"Go to hell. I invoking. Get me a lawyer."

Eames exhaled and glanced up at Bobby who said to her, "You'd think he would want to know everything. The DNA evidence, the file on Brine, the file on him."

"You have no such thing. Lie, you lie. Police in America lie, I know this." Krezemsky stood and Bobby opened the door, motioning for two uniforms to cuff the Russian and take him back to holding. "What about my lawyer? I demand a lawyer!"

"Yeah, yeah, we're gonna make that call. You'll be more comfortable in holding. Take him out of here." The officers led the man out and Bobby wiped his hands over his face. "Well, that didn't go exactly like I had hoped."

"He's tough, but he'll break. It will just take some time."

Deakins entered and said, "I'll call Carver and see if we can't get a public defender fluent in Russian and English. It may take a while to find such a person." The three smiled at each other.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mrs. Goren, Mrs. Goren, dear, wake up. There you are; how are you feeling?"

"Is Frank here?"

"No, dear, neither of your sons is here right now. I need to get a urine sample from you. Can you do that for me?"

"What do you want?"

"I need a urine sample from you."

"What?"

"You need to go into the bathroom and pee into this cup. Can you do that for me?"

"I'm not going to piss in a cup! What do you think I am, some heathen pagan? Where's Frank?"

The nurse sighed and went to get assistance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday Afternoon

"Fr. Picard, thank you for coming in. Let's go in here. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?"

"No, Bobby, no thank you. Detective Eames, it's a pleasure to see you again." Fr. Picard took a seat and set his case on the conference room table. The detectives sat as well.

"Uh, Father, what can you tell us about Brine?"

"Have you found the people responsible for his death?"

"Yes, we think so, Boris Krezemsky. Is that a familiar name?"

"No." The priest shook his head and continued, "I spoke with the Archbishop explaining the situation. Brinosovich's history and the current – uh, current events surrounding him convinced the Archbishop to grant permission to discuss his past with you."

"We appreciate this, Father."

"Brinosovich was a professor of theology at Yaroslavl Demidov State University in the Upper-Volga region of Russia. He excelled in identifying ancient liturgical items, working closely with museums and private collectors in addition to his teaching and writing. In 1994, the Russian authorities caught him selling antiquities on the black market. Russian prisons are particularly horrid places, so he fled, made his way to the US, changed his name and entered the seminary – a very good place to hide.

"He was a good priest until his old demons overtook him and he began dealing in antiquities again – pillaging collections of priceless liturgical items and selling them. As in most unpleasant events involving members of the clergy, the Catholic Church hushed it up, excommunicated him and he disappeared, until now."

"How could he steal and sell right under the church's nose? Weren't systems in place to prevent that?" Eames asked.

"Yes, my dear, there were, that's how he was caught."

"So, how did he and Krezemsky meet up?" asked Bobby.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know. Perhaps this other fellow, Krezemsky, can tell you that."

Bobby and Eames were quiet for a moment and then Bobby said, "Thank you Father, this fills in a number of holes. Thank you for coming down here."

"Good luck with this, Bobby. Let me know if I can be of any other help." The men shook hands and the priest nodded and smiled to Eames.

"Well, let's get Krezemsky back in here and finish this up," Bobby said to his partner.


	61. Chapter 61

Designed Intent

Chapter 61

Tuesday Morning

"Bobby," Gleason said softly as she filled Bobby's travel mug.

"Huh?"

"Bobby, would you ask Alex to be my witness?"

Bobby looked up from the examining the phone bill. "You want Eames to be you witness?"

"Is that all right?"

"Of course, Sweetheart," he said standing and moving to her, "I think you should ask her, though, not me."

"Well, you'll see her. You ask her." Gleason handed Bobby his travel mug.

He took it and bent to kiss her. "Honey, call her today and ask her. I'm sure she will be delighted. You ask her, it's only right."

Gleason sighed and nodded, "I'll call her this afternoon." Bobby kissed her again and left for work.

Gleason took the two books and the wrapping paper from the bottom chest drawer wrapped the two books after Bobby left. She had decided to give Bobby the erotic novel for their wedding and save the other, a book of short stories and poems, for his birthday. Rueben Lesky was Bobby's favorite author, known for his erotic writings. Lesky's craft turned the mundane sensuous in his poetry and prose. The first editions were in the original German, but not autographed.

Then she sat at the table and composed what she would write in each card. Gleason was a gifted linguist and could work magic with words. She sat and thought of her beloved, smiled and began to write.

When finished, Gleason returned the two wrapped books and their cards in the bottom drawer of her chest atop the new wedding-night sheets.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Shinto read Mrs. Goren's blood and urine test results. He frowned, ordered a few more tests, including an x-ray, changed one medication and added one. Then, he called her son Robert and left a message for him to return his call.

"Dr. Shinto, is everything all right with my mother?"

"I read the note you left on Sunday about your concerns with your mother's physical health. We have observed the same increase in fatigue and her pallor. I ordered a few tests and the results have returned."

"Is she all right?"

"Well, her white blood cell count is high, indicating an infection of some sort. The infection is probably contributing to her fatigue and lack of color; although she has no fever."

"What kind of infection? Where?"

"That is what we are going to find out, Mr. Goren. I have ordered a few more tests, have changed her Risperdal to Geoden and I want to get an x-ray of her chest. We will know more in a few days."

"Do you have any idea what it might be?"

"At her age, it could be a number of things. It is too early to tell. If it is an infection, we can treat it. The change in her medication should give her more energy and will stimulate her appetite; both will make her stronger. Do not worry unnecessarily, Mr. Goren. She is in good hands."

Bobby hesitated, but trusted the staff at Carmel Ridge. "All right, Dr. Shinto, thank you. I'll call tomorrow. Thank you."

"Do not worry. Good bye."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason sat and remembered Mrs. Goren's request for new books for Christian. It was odd to think of the hallucination as a real person, actually do things for him. Mrs. Goren seemed to enjoy the little boy, he certainly seemed real to Bobby's mother. Maybe they would go to the bookstore tonight, get some books, and perhaps take them to his mother tomorrow evening.

She recalled the experience she had last week in the coffee shop with the little boy who was so friendly and looked so much like – like their son. Gleason recalled the miscarriage, how frightened she was when she knew she was pregnant and how sad she was when it was over. Even Estella had known she was pregnant. Gleason had known but didn't want to believe it. She had been so frightened.

Her thoughts went back to the day a few weeks ago when she and Bobby sat in Nero's and then walked to the park; she knew then that she was changing her mind about having a baby. Bobby wanted a child so badly; he had cried that day in the park. Bobby would be a wonderful father; he would be a better father than she could be a mother. Bobby has a sensitive side few men have and he knew what a good father would do. He had learned from watching his own father do everything wrong.

Bobby was all Gleason had and she had sworn to herself to make him happy. Could she do this – give him what he wanted? All of the reasons not to have a child lined up in Gleason's mind: she would be forty-three on her next birthday; Bobby would be forty-seven. They were too old to be parents; they were old enough to be grandparents. The risks would be so great; she was too old and working in Evanston. It would never work.

Gleason sighed heavily, rinsed her cup and set out to find a bra and fancy panties for the wedding.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday Midmorning

"When will I see my lawyer? This is ridiculous. You are delaying my right to counsel." Krezemsky was furious.

"Yeah, well, we're sorry about that, but we wanted to get you a public defender fluent in Russian and English. That's a rare breed, even in New York," Bobby explained as the uniform removed the Russian's handcuffs. "Ah, here she is now."

The short, round, grey-haired woman entered the interrogation room and thudded her case onto the table. "Не говорите ничто," she said to her client.

"I will say what I want. I speak English perfect. We speak English. Get me out of here."

"What is my client being charged with?"

"Well, for starters, grand theft, accessory to grand theft, and the murders of five individuals, two with gun specifications," Eames offered.

The lawyer looked at each of the detectives and then at her client. She had passed the bar nine weeks ago.

"What do you have on him?"

"We have DNA that connects him to the thefts and the first three murders and fingerprints and DNA that put him at the site of the last two murders. He's looking at several long sentences."

At that point, ADA Carver entered the room; he did not recognize this lawyer. After the introductions, Bobby said, "Mr. Carver, I was just telling Mr. Krezemsky and his lawyer about the long sentences he is facing."

"That's correct; without a confession and going to trial, your client is looking at twenty-five to life for each of the five murders, served consecutively without the possibility of parole. In addition, he'll probably face fifteen to twenty-five on the theft of the antiquities with ten to fifteen for the conspiracy. Mr. Krezemsky will never see the light of day again."

"This is bullshit," Krezemsky mumbled.

The lawyer was way, way out of her league. "I see," was all she could offer. Everyone looked at her. "What are you offering?"

"Well, if your client confesses, we can combine the accessory to theft and theft charges, and the murders can be served concurrently. That's forty-five to life _with_ the possibility of parole," Carver explained. "Take it or leave it."

The lawyer had no clue as to how to proceed. "May I speak with my client privately?" The three left and went into the watch room with Deakins.

"Think he'll give it up?" Deakins asked as they filed in.

"I got the idea his lawyer knows more Russian than law," Carver replied.

Suddenly, Krezemsky stood up, knocking over the chair and shouted to the lawyer in Russian. She backed away from him and two uniforms rushed in grabbing the man's arms.

"You better go see what that was all about," Deakins suggested.

Bobby and Eames rushed back into the interrogation room and found the lawyer in the corner already deciding to return to her life as a CPA. The two uniforms wrestled Krezemsky into a chair, each with a hand on his shoulders.

"Ok, knock it off," Bobby said to the thief. Eames nodded to the officers and they left.

Slowly the lawyer stepped to a chair and pulled it around to the end of the table, she didn't want to be too close to her client.

Bobby pulled out a chair, turned it around and straddled it, arms across the top of the chair back. Mr. Carver entered and leaned back against the mirror. Eames sat beside her partner. The Russian said nothing and scowled at the tabletop. Bobby glanced at his lawyer and she sat with hands in her lap, shaking her head as if she had no idea what was going on.

"You know, I've been thinking and I think you and Brine were thieves together in Russia," Bobby said. Krezemsky looked up at this. "I think you and he were stealing and selling on the black market and Brine got pinched and fled and you stayed behind, wetting yourself, afraid that you would be caught as well."

"Mr. Krezemsky, may I remind you that if you go to trial you stand a very good chance of dying in prison," Carver interjected.

"What so bad, huh? American prisons are like hotels. Three meals, television, no have to work, health care, and an exercise place – this is not so bad I think."

Bobby looked at Eames and then back at Carver. Eames offered, "No, see, the food sucks and so does the television, you DO have to work, and health care is at the discretion of the warden. Oh, and the 'exercise place,' it's a yard full of dirt."

The five individuals were quiet for a long moment.

Carver broke the silence with, "We can contact the Russian authorities and cooperate with them on connecting you and Brine, or Brinosovich, for your black market dealings over there. I am certain the Russian government would love to have you extradited back to them. As poor as American prisons are, they're a far sight better than the two-hundred year old tombs over there."

Krezemsky knew he had no choice. "All right, I tell you what you want to know."

Bobby sat up, squared his shoulders, and then stood, indicating to the ADA to take the seat. Eames stood and said, "I'll get a videographer."

For the next hour, Krezemsky detailed his association with Brine here and in Russia, how they met up once he had made his way to the US. He explained how he had learned about the three thieves and their special collection of items, how he had posed as a buyer, learning where the goods were and then killing them.

He said Brine told Turnbuckle about the stash in the apartment; and, knowing that Turnbuckle was a two-taker that he would want to snatch it. Krezemsky had decided to let Turnbuckle and Brine do the job and then he would delete Turnbuckle from the equation. When it all went down, Krezemsky decided to eliminate Brine as well, keeping the entire take for himself.

If it weren't for trace evidence, he would have gotten away with it.

"Take him away," Carver said when it was finished.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday Evening

"Honey, this is very good," Bobby said, leaning over to kiss her. 

Gleason smiled and said, "Do you want to go and get the children's books for your mum, Love? Maybe we can go up and see her tomorrow evening?"

"Yeah, let's do that. I, uh, I had a call from Dr. Shinto this morning."

"How is she? Is she ok?"

Bobby set down his fork and knife and sat back, "He said she has an infection. Her white blood cell count was high." He relayed the rest of the information and ended with, "Mom's getting older and so is prone to these things."

Gleason heard and saw his worry and took his hand. They shared a look and finished eating.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening air seemed warmer as they walked the few blocks to the bookstore. Bobby held the door as Gleason entered. She had never been inside a bookstore specifically for children. "Is this where you found the fist ones?" she asked.

"No, I went to one of those big mega-bookstores. I thought this might have better choices."

They went different ways and looked and looked. After an hour of looking, sitting and reading, Bobby found Gleason sitting in a wing chair, reading. "Find anything good?" he asked.

Gleason looked up at him and he saw she had been crying. "Oh, Baby, come here." He pulled her to her feet and held her, rocking. She cried softly into his chest. "I know, Sweetheart, I know." Bobby had felt the same, being here with her, looking for books that should be for their own child.

He looked at her and pulled her close again, fighting his own tears.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	62. Chapter 62

Designed Intent

Chapter 62

Wednesday Morning

Eames's cell phone rang, "Eames. . . . Gleason! Hi!" Bobby looked up and smiled and Eames stared at her partner. "No, nothing; why? . . . Well, sure. I would be honored. Thanks. . . . Ok. . . . Uh, do you want me to wear anything special? . . . Ha! Certainly. . . . Ok, I'll give you a call beforehand. . . . Sure. Bye." Eames hung up and smiled at Bobby. "Did you know about this?"

Bobby nodded, still grinning.

"So, have you invited anybody? The captain?"

"Uh, no. We, we want it to be very small. Not a big deal."

"I'm going to be the only one there?" she asked with glee.

"Yeah, well, remember, it's not a big deal."

"Are you kidding?! This is huge and I'm going to be there! Can I bring Edward?"

"Oh, Eames, I, I –," Bobby didn't want to say no to his partner, but he wanted his marriage to Gleason to be as private as possible.

"Bobby, it's ok. I understand. I shouldn't have even asked. I'm sorry," she said softly.

Bobby looked back at his partner and Eames saw him struggle. "Thanks for understanding."

Bobby and Eames spent the rest of the day filing reports on the five murders and the theft; it looked like the paperwork would take two days to complete. Deakins was giddy with the cases closing as this sent the solve rate vertical. Carver and his colleagues were busy as well, arranging Krezemsky's sentencing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason hung up and smiled. She would have a real witness! She laid out her new top, bra and panties on the bed. Her suit was already clean and pressed. Everything was ready, just today and three more days until the wedding. Gleason went for a walk to keep from going crazy with excitement.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday Afternoon

Bobby spoke briefly with the captain then told Eames he was taking a few hours. Bobby met Gleason for a late lunch and they spent the afternoon shopping for a gift for his best man and her maid of honor. Neither Bobby nor Gleason knew what to get. They came close to buying restaurant gift cards when they wandered past a clock shop.

"What do you think?" he asked her.

"Well, it is a timeless gift," she smiled at him.

Gleason chose a small wooden desk clock for Eames and Bobby chose a neon wall clock in the shape of a 1957 Corvette. "This will look great in his office at the garage," he said.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late Wednesday Afternoon

The ride to Carmel Ridge seemed long for both of them. Bobby talked about all the paperwork the case involved. Gleason listened and said little. She was eager to see Bobby's mother, to see how she was doing, of course, but to see if Christian was about. Gleason wanted to see – in as much as anyone could – how the little boy liked the books.

Mrs. Goren was dozing in her chair when they arrived. "Mom? Mom, we're here." Bobby had called his mother to tell her they were coming; she was delighted for a mid-week visit. "Mom?"

Bobby pulled up the two chairs and waited for Gleason to sit. He sat across from his mother and took her hand. It was as light as a baby bird. "Mom?" He ran his thumb over the back of his mother's frail hand and Gleason recognized the tender move.

"Mrs. Goren, Bobby is here to see you. Wake up Mrs. Goren."

Frances roused and came right around, "Bobby! Oh, you're here already? I hope you didn't drive fast. Gleason, you're here too! I am so glad you two are here."

Bobby exhaled his relief, she seemed better, though a little hard to rouse there for a moment. "We brought those books you wanted."

"What books?"

"The books you said Chr- Christian wanted." It was hard for Bobby to say the name, as though referring to a real child. "Here, what do you think of these?" He removed the books from the bag and set the stack on his mother's lap.

Frances looked at each one and lingered on the thick book of nursery rhymes. She ran her hand over the embossed cover. It was a lovely edition, bound in blue leather with gilt edges and glossy, full-page illustrations. "Oh, Bobby, this is it. This is the one from when you and Frank were little. Remember? Where did you find it?"

Actually, it wasn't the same one from his childhood, but Bobby let his mother believe it. "Gleason and I found these in a bookstore near our apartment. Do you like them?"

"Do you think Christian will like them," Gleason asked.

"Oh, yes, yes." Frances looked up and then turned in her seat and looked toward the drapes. "Christian, come see Gramma. Christian?"

Gleason followed the other woman's eyes and saw nothing. "Is he there, Mrs. Goren?"

Frances hesitated and finally said, "No, he's gone. I haven't seen him in a day or so. Must be off playing I guess. He will come running, though, when he knows we have these. Thank you, Bobby. These are just right." For the first time in a long time, Bobby felt as though he had pleased his mother. His heart set at peace.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday Evening

Bobby went to Tim's gallery on Thursday after work and picked up the rings. Gleason's ring was as he wished, like none other. Tim had engraved the inside of the two bands as well as the top and bottom edge of Gleason's special ring, just as Bobby directed. He had Bobby try on his band, "That looks good, man."

Bobby stared at the back of his left hand, looked up at his friend and said with a huge smile, "Yeah, it does, doesn't it?"

Tim tied the three rings together with a length of silver chain. "This is an old, old Celtic tradition," he explained as he tied the special knot. "It says that if the rings are secured with a silver chain and tied with this knot, not to be undone until the moment of wedding, then the couple will live long and love forever." Tim slipped the collection into a small black pouch and handed it to his friend. "Just pull one of the ends and the knot will undo. Then, keep the chain in the pouch and put it somewhere safe."

Bobby slipped the pouch into his inside coat pocket and shook his friend's hand. "Thanks for everything, Tim."

"My pleasure, Bobby."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Afternoon

"Hi, Sweet Pea. How's my little boy? See these, your Daddy and Mommy brought these for you." The nurse stood in the doorway and watched Mrs. Goren talk to the air, looking through a stack of children's books.

The nurse needed to get blood and urine samples to compare with those taken earlier in the week. She decided to come back later and let the sweet old woman speak with the child only she could see.

"See this one? Your daddy had this when he was a little boy. Look at these beautiful pictures."

The little boy leaned on his Gramma's chair and looked at the illustrations. He looked from the book to his Gramma and back to the book. His daddy had this book? Oh, how he wanted to touch it. He missed his daddy and mommy. He decided to see them tonight while they slept.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Evening

"Let's go out for dinner," Bobby said into her neck.

"Bobby, I'm not even hungry," she smiled and looked up at him.

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes, a little; are you?"

He stared into her eyes and could not believe how lucky he was to have found her, kept her and now to be marrying her. He thanked God for all things good.

"I'm not nervous. Just, just . . . I'm excited."

"I love you, Bobby, forever and ever."

"I love you." He pulled her tight and they rocked.

Bobby's phone ringing broke their embrace. He checked the number and saw that it was Lewis. "Lewis, how are you?" Gleason walked from the kitchen into the bedroom, leaving him to talk with his best man.

"Want to go out for your stag party?" Lewis asked.

Bobby laughed and said, "Oh, I don't think so, Lewis. I want to spend this evening with Gleason. Thanks, though."

"Well, have you guys had dinner?"

"No."

"So, let's go get dinner – the three of us. I'll call Mom and see if she wants to go, too."

"Ok, let me ask Gleason. I'll call you back."

"Honey, Lewis wants to know if we want to go to dinner with him and his mom. A dinner instead of a stag party," Bobby called as he came down the hall to the bedroom.

Gleason was ironing his new shirt. He stopped and watched her. She's going to be my wife, he thought. My wife. Forever.

"That's fine. What time?" she answered, not looking up, intent on her task.

Bobby stepped to her and hugged her from behind. "Let's stay in. I want to be with just you tonight. We can go to dinner tomorrow with Lewis and his mom like we planned. Ok?"

Gleason finished and held up the shirt, "Hand me that hanger, please."

Bobby let go of her, took the hanger from the bed, and handed it to her. "So, what do you say? Stay in and frolic in the sack or go out with Lewis and his mom?"

Gleason stepped past him, hung up the shirt in the closet, and stepped past him again. She turned off the iron, bent to unplug it and left with it, walking to the kitchen.

Bobby folded up the ironing board and stashed it in the back of the closet. "Gleason? Honey, do you want to go out or stay in?" He returned to the kitchen and found her sitting at the table, hands folded in front of her lips. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He sat across from her. "Glea-?"

She didn't respond.

He took her wrist and said softly, his fear rising, "Gleason, talk to me."

Finally, she looked at him. Gleason slid her wrist from his grip and covered her face with her hands. He heard her cry.

For the first time in weeks, Bobby couldn't draw a deep breath. His fingers went to his lips. He felt cold fear. "Baby, Honey, tell me what's wrong." She cried behind her hands. "Gleason?"

Bobby stood up, went to the phone, and dialed. "Lewis, Bobby. Hey listen, we're going to stay in tonight. . . . Yeah, something like that. . . . We'll, uh, we'll see you there. . . . Yeah, between four and four-fifteen. . . . Say hi to your mom. . . . Ok, thanks. Bye."

He hung up and went back to the kitchen. Gleason sat, fiddling with a tea towel. She wiped her nose with it and looked at him as he sat across from her, his face pained.

"What's wrong?" he asked so softly. "Are you afraid?"

Gleason struggled with what to say. "Bobby-," the tea towel was becoming a cluster of knots. He took her hands and bent to look into her face. He waited.

"Bobby, what, what if I'm not a good wife? What if I can't do this? I don't know how to be a wife."

He exhaled with relief – nerves, it was nerves. "Oh, God, Gleason. Honey, you have been a wife to me from the beginning. This is just a formality. A piece of paper." But Bobby knew it was so, so much more than that.

She looked at him and asked, "Are you sure?"

He looked at her and said, "Yes, I am sure."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby and Gleason went to bed early that night. They made slow, tender love, exploring each other as though they didn't know each other's body. Bobby released gently, pumping his semen into her with quiet grunts as she moaned her orgasm under him. They settled, gasps slowing to deep breaths.

"Are you all right?" he asked, pulling from her body. Gleason hissed, moaned, and immediately wrapped herself around him. "Honey?"

"Oh, God, Bobby, I love you so much. So much."

He held her, then moved back and wiped his hand over the side of her face, pushing away her hair. He searched her face, watching her search his. He kissed her forehead and she turned over. They snuggled in their way and he listened as she fell asleep. Only then did he.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He stood and watched his wife walk with their son, holding hands, picking flowers. "Gleason!" he called. The woman and boy stopped and turned.

"Daddy!" the child let go of his mother's hand and came running. Bobby smiled and walked toward the boy. "Chris!" Bobby stooped and caught the child as he launched himself into his father's arms.

Gleason walked toward the pair, smiling. "How are my guys?" she asked.

Bobby took her by the waist and set down their son. "Swing me?" Chris asked, stepping between his parents.

Bobby and Gleason each took a hand and swung their little boy between them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She watched her husband hold their son's hand as the child walked along the top of the stone wall. "Bobby!" she called. The man and the boy stopped and turned.

"Mommy!" the boy's father lifted him down and he came running. Gleason smiled and walked toward him. "Chris!" Gleason stooped and swung the child around as he flung himself into her arms.

Bobby walked toward his wife and son, "How are my two favorite people?" he asked.

Gleason took Bobby's hand and he took their son's. "Swing me?" Chris asked, stepping between his parents.

Gleason and Bobby each took a hand and swung their little boy between them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bobby and Gleason both sighed and shifted. They slept their last night as single individuals – tomorrow they will be one.


	63. Chapter 63

6

Designed Intent

Chapter 63

Saturday 7:18 AM

Bobby lay watching her sleep. Her left hand sat upon her chest, her right hand beside her head. She sighed suddenly and her eyes flickered; her head turned and she rolled onto her right side, facing him, hands tucked under her chin. She slept on.

Bobby watched her sleep for several minutes, then pulled the covers over her shoulder and carefully left their bed. He went into the bathroom and then returned for his green flannel sleep pants. Afterward, he headed toward the kitchen where he set the kettle to boil, prepared the tea, set the table and began to cook.

He was pouring the tea when he noticed her standing in the doorway, leaning on the jamb, watching him.

"Hi. I didn't hear you," he said, setting down the teapot and moving to her. Gleason molded into his arms and body and pressed herself against him; his hands traveled down her back to her bare bottom under his tee shirt that she wore, probing. She exhaled hotly against his ear, then nibbled his lobe and felt his manhood twitch against her. "Ungh, Baby, that's, that's nice," he murmured. She knew exactly what to do to make him hot.

Her hand slid from his back to his waist and inside the elastic band of his cotton pants. She took his thickening cock in her hand and pulled it gently. Bobby moaned into her neck. "Oh, Jesus, Glea-."

"Come back to bed. I want you to finger me until I'm wet. Then, I want you to put your dick in me and fuck me until I come," she whispered beside his ear. God, how he loved to hear her talk like this.

"Let me, let me turn off the stove," he breathed. He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, his tongue lapping at hers. Bobby moved away and Gleason saw his penis jutting forward, stretching the front of his pants. She turned and went to the bedroom, shed his tee shirt and climbed in. Her legs were open to him when he crawled in after her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

9:52 AM

Bobby reheated the omelets in the microwave and they ate. "I need to run out and do a few errands," he told her. "I won't be more than an hour."

"I need to run an errand, as well," she said with a smile.

After clearing the table, Bobby got into the shower and Gleason set out her clothes for the day. She decided to change the bed using the new sheets while he was out and then go to the florist to fetch his boutonnière.

"All yours," Bobby said as he came into the bedroom, rubbing his hair with a towel. "Do you need the car?"

"No, Love, I'm going to walk. I'm only going up to Ninth Avenue."

Bobby dressed, kissed her and headed out. Gleason changed the bed, took a shower and then she headed out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1:21 PM

Bobby had returned before Gleason and packed her carpetbag with a change of clothes for each of them and their pills. He ran it down to the car and set it in the back. The wedding bouquet sat on the back seat – it was extraordinary. He had taken the black velvet pouch containing the rings to Lewis while he was out and made Lewis swear on both of their mothers' souls that he would not open it.

"I swear to God, Lewis, if you open it, I will know and then I will have to kill you," he said to his best friend, "And I know how to do it without getting caught."

"Ok, ok. I swear. Gee whiz, give a guy a gun and a badge!" Lewis's mother was still at the beauty shop getting her hair done. She had purchased new everything for herself and new underwear, socks, shirt and tie for Lewis. You would have thought it was her son getting married.

Bobby sat furiously polishing his shoes when Gleason returned. His boutonnière sat in a tiny white shopping bag that she set on the top of the low bookcase when she entered; Bobby hadn't seen it.

Eames had called three times; she was a nervous wreck. Lewis had called twice and Gleason had thrown up once; nerves, she told Bobby.

Bobby grabbed Gleason as she walked by and said, "Last chance for a shower together while we're still single."

She smiled and said, "You know what always happens when we shower together."

"I know," he said lasciviously.

"You won't have anything left for tonight," she replied.

"Oh, yeah, I have plenty."

Gleason's hand moved to his goods and she rubbed him through his jeans. "Ok," she said with a gentle squeeze and a smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2: 38 PM

Gleason came from the bedroom and asked, "Is this ok?"

Bobby could not believe how beautiful she looked, "Honey, you, you look fantastic." He crossed to her and held her at arm's length. "Oh, Sweetheart, look at you." She did look fantastic – her new shell fit her to a tee and her suit skimmed her shape perfectly. She had gathered her hair in a loose twist around her head and tucked in a small comb holding a tiny arrangement of lily of the valley, a short strand of ivy and a thistle. She had called the florist and ordered it after she had ordered Bobby's boutonnière.

Gleason blushed; she felt beautiful. "You look so handsome, Bobby," she said, stepping to him. "Here, Love, this is for you." She crossed to the bookcase and took the boutonnière from the small white bag. "Come, let me put this on you."

Bobby grinned as he looked at the cluster of flowers, "This is perfect. I like your choices, it's just right for us."

Gleason pinned the flowers securely to his lapel and stood back to examine it, "It looks good."

"These are for you," Bobby walked into the kitchen and took the bouquet from the table.

Gleason gasped and her hands went to her mouth, "Oh, Bobby!" She took it and then her head shot up to him, "Bobby, look at the flowers. . ."

"I know; we chose nearly the same ones." He couldn't stop smiling.

"Bobby, this is beautiful. Thank you, Love."

"It has a piece of ivy in it that we're supposed to plant after the rest is done."

"That's an old Celtic tradition. How did you know?"

"I know things." He looked at her in her beauty and joy and his chest filled with love for her. "Are you happy?" he asked softly.

Gleason looked up at him and he saw the tears. "Oh, Honey, don't cry." He moved to her and held her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3:15

They left for the courthouse.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3:47

"Here they come," Lewis's mother said over her shoulder to the others. She was dressed all in robin's egg blue and looked like she stepped out of a 1945 catalogue – even her hair had a hint of blue in it.

Lewis was as excited as he had ever been. Not because his best friend was getting married, but because his best friend's beautiful partner was going to be the other witness. Lewis had hugged Bobby when Bobby told him about Eames serving as Gleason's maid of honor.

"You sure do look lovely, Detective."

"Thank you again, Lewis."

"Can I call you 'Alex'?"

"No."

"Oh, don't you look lovely, my dear! Lewis, look how pretty Gleason is. And Bobby! You are such a good-looking man. Lewis, look how handsome Bobby is." She dabbed at her eyes with a lacy white hanky.

Bobby and Gleason were smiling and blushing as they approached the small group gathered outside Judge Weisenstein's chambers.

Lewis's mother reached up and gave Bobby a kiss on the cheek, brushing invisible lint from his shoulder, standing before him, smiling and tearing up. She took Gleason's hand and pressed her cheek against Gleason's, looking her up and down. "Oh, you two are so perfect for each other. Lewis, aren't they just perfect for each other?"

Lewis stepped up and Bobby and he shook hands and embraced. "You are going to marry this lug?" he said to Gleason with a smile, and then he kissed her cheek.

Eames stood aside, watching the happiness. Bobby and she made eye contact and her heart soared for him. "Eames," he said.

"You clean up really nice, Bobby. Gleason, you are beautiful." Alex and Bobby shared a quick hug and Eames hugged Gleason as well.

Gleason had not said a word yet, she couldn't stop smiling. Bobby stood with his arm around her. He bent down and said softly, "Are you ok?"

All she could manage was a nod.

"Your flowers are wonderful," Lewis's mother said, "Lewis, aren't her flowers wonderful? Did you pick those out yourself, Bobby?"

He nodded.

While the three women busied themselves examining the bouquet, Bobby and Lewis stood aside, watching. "So, you are really going to do this, huh?"

"Oh, yes, Lewis. I am most definitely going to do this."

"Well, what about working in the shop? What about the poker games? What about going to car shows? What about your best friend here? Huh?" Lewis asked with mock sincerity.

"You, my friend, are now back seat to everything concerning her."

The men watched Gleason enjoy the fuss. "She is beautiful, Bobby."

"I know." God, he loved her. He never thought he would ever feel what he felt for her. He wondered if everyone felt this; no, he thought, no one could have this much love for a woman. He would do anything, _anything_, for her; he would lay down his life for her.

"So, we're going to have a wedding here today, are we?" a voice boomed from the far end of the hall.

Everyone turned and watched the judge stride toward them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

4:17

They filed into the judge's chambers.


	64. Chapter 64

Designed Intent

Chapter 64

Saturday 4:38

"Do you, Robert, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poor, in good times and bad, forsaking all others until the end of your time on this earth?"

"I do." His thumbs moved over the back of her hands.

"Do you, Gleason, take his man to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poor, in good times and bad, forsaking all others until the end of your time on this earth?"

"Aye, I do." She squeezed his hands.

"Do you have the rings?" Judge Weisenstein said to Bobby. Bobby turned to Lewis and held out his hand.

"What?" Lewis mouthed.

Bobby's eyes shot to his friend's eyes, "Lewis. Give me the pouch," Bobby said softly.

"What?" Lewis asked again and shrugged.

"Goddamn it, Lewis, give me the pouch!" he said, not so softly.

Everyone chuckled.

"Oh, the rings! You want the rings! Here, yeah, sure." He grinned at his buddy and handed it over. Bobby swore to himself that he would kill his best friend when this was over.

Bobby opened the pouch and slipped out the three rings, still tied with the silver chain. Gleason recognized it for what it was and her eyes went to Bobby's – "Oh, Bobby, how did you. . ."

He just smiled at her. Gleason took one end of the chain, Bobby took the other, and they pulled, the three rings tumbling free into Bobby's hand. Gleason saw the third ring and didn't understand.

"Repeat after me, Bobby. 'I, Bobby, take you Gleason –,'"

"I, Bobby, take you Gleason –,"

"To be my lawfully wedded wife –,"

"To be my lawfully wedded wife –,"

"To have and to hold, to love and to cherish till death do we part."

"To have and to hold, to love and to cherish till death do we part."

Bobby slipped the circle of alternating round- and emerald-cut diamonds onto Gleason's ring finger. She looked at it and then up at him with mouth open in surprise. Bobby smiled broadly and gave her his band, slipping her band into his coat pocket. His eyes never left her face.

"Repeat after me, Gleason. 'I, Gleason, take you Bobby –,'"

"I, Gleason, take you Bobby," her eyes went to her feet, her face crumpled and she hitched a sob. Bobby bent slightly to look at her.

"To be my lawfully wedded husband –,"

"To be my lawfully wedded husband –," she whispered and hitched.

"To have and to hold, to love and to cherish till death do we part."

"To have and to hold, to love and to cherish till death do we part," it was but a whisper. She slipped the ring onto Bobby's finger.

"Now, by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, Bobby."

Bobby handed Gleason his handkerchief, she wiped her nose and then they kissed -- a long, soft, deep kiss. Lewis's mother, who had been crying since she arrived, sobbed aloud. Even Lewis teared up. Eames couldn't see for the wells of tears in her eyes and she couldn't take a breath for fear of sobbing aloud.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saturday Evening

After dinner, Bobby saw Eames into a cab and waited with Lewis's mother while her son brought up the car. Then he helped his bride into the car. "Happy?" he asked her.

"I cannot believe we are married," she answered softly.

"I know, me, too." He took her hand, leaned over and kissed her lightly.

Gleason sat and looked at the ring of diamonds, not believing it was hers. "Bobby, Bobby, this ring – I, I don't. . ." Words failed the linguist.

"Do you like it?"

"Love, I, it's, oh, Bobby." She turned it around her finger and then, "Bobby?"

"Huh?"

She slipped off the ring and looked at the top edge. "Oh, my God! Bobby!" Her head spun toward him and he smiled over at her.

"What?"

"How did you ever find this? Dear God, do you know what this is?"

"Uh huh."

Gleason's eyes filled and her right hand went to her lips. "Oh, God Bobby. How did you ever do this?"

"There's more on the bottom." She turned the ring over and gasped softly. "I did some research and Tim lasered it around the top and bottom edges. Does it say what I hope it says? Did I spell it right?"

Gleason cried and read again the words written in the ancient ogham alphabet – "All Time. Together. All Life. Together."

"Yes, yes, it says it." She cried anew and Bobby's heart soared.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I thought we were going home," Gleason said, noticing that they were taking a different route than usual.

"We are, but not tonight."

They pulled up in front of the Waldorf Astoria and a valet appeared at Gleason's door, another at Bobby's. Bobby gave the man a five, took the ticket and mentioned the bag in the back. "Come on." They checked in and followed the staffer to the elevator.

The man unlocked the door to the Bridal Suite and Gleason stepped in. "Oh, Bobby, what have you done?" She turned and smiled up at him.

"Are you happy?"

"Oh, Love, what have you done?"

She walked into the suite and looked around. It was the most wonderful place she had ever been. The staffer set their bag on the floor near the bed and Bobby tipped him, and then took Gleason in his arms.

"I love you, Mrs. Goren."

"Your wife's name is Wintermantle, Mr. Goren."

"I know; I just like saying it." He kissed her softly.

Bobby opened the champagne and Gleason checked out the fruit basket. She pulled a grape and fed it to him as he poured them each a flute. He handed her a glass and he said, "To us, forever and ever." They clinked, wrapped arm in arm, sipped and kissed lightly.

"What other goodies did you get us?" asked Gleason.

"It all came with the package. Hey, look for a 'box of erotica.' I'm curious about what's in there." Bobby slipped off his jacket, tossing it on the loveseat, pulled free his tie adding it to his jacket, and then unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt.

Gleason noticed a small wooden chest on the bench at the foot of the bed and asked, "Is this it?" Bobby set down his flute and crossed to her.

He opened it and said, "Oh, yeah, this is it." He sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him, "Look at this." He removed a tube of lotion or cream, "'Warming, edible lubricant.' Oooh, that sounds promising," he said smiling at her. Gleason smiled, shook her head and took the tube from him.

Bobby removed a DVD, "_Wedding Night Bliss_. It's probably pretty tame, adolescent." He said with subtle disappointment. Bobby looked at the armoire across from the foot of the bed, "I bet there's a DVD player in there."

He pulled out a jar of cream, "'Warming massage cream,' it doesn't say 'edible.'" He opened the jar and sniffed it, then put it under Gleason's nose. "Not bad," he said. Gleason took the jar and set it aside.

"Oooh, Honey, look at this," Bobby lifted a long, slender object from its satin, drawstring bag.

"Is that a . . .?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so." He pressed the end and the item began to hum and shiver. "Batteries included," he smiled at her.

"Why would they . . ." she began and then blushed, "Can we keep these things?"

Bobby looked at her and laughed, "Yes, I think so. Are you going to take this back to Evanston?"

She snatched it from his hand and mumbled, "Give me that."

"What's that?" she asked, looking over his arm at the small tin with a pull-tab lid.

"Oh, my God," Bobby said with a smile.

Gleason took the can from him, "Sliced peaches? Bobby, why would they include a tin of sliced peaches when the fruit basket has fresh ones?"

Bobby put his arm around her, pulled her close and kissed her forehead, "We'll just have to find something to do with them." God he loved her.

Bobby kissed her quickly and went back into the chest. He removed three scented candles, a box of wooden matches, a strip of five condoms – 'ribbed for her pleasure' – and a package of wet wipes. "That's it. Not a bad box of goodies, you think?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They stood beside the turned down bed. Bobby took her head in both hands and kissed her softly, chastely. He slipped her jacket from her shoulders and laid it on the foot of the bed. Gleason went for his buckle, but Bobby stopped her hands and undid it himself. Back and forth, they undressed each other.

Bobby was stunned when he saw Gleason's panties and bra. "What's this?" he asked with a smile.

"Do you like it?"

His eyes, and hands, moved up and down her body, "Oh, yes, I like it." Bobby's hands moved over her breasts, over the bra. "Honey, I like this a lot. Keep it on, ok?"

Gleason smiled and pulled his face to hers. Bobby guided her onto the king size bed and kissed her deeply. "I love you," he whispered deeply and then looked into her soul. "I love everything about you: the way you make me feel like a man, the way you love me. I love your mind, your voice, your laugh. I love your body. I love you."

She stared up at him, drinking in his face, his voice. I am so blessed, she thought. Gleason pulled his head toward her again, kissed him then wrapped her arms around his shoulders and whispered beside his head, "I will love you forever and ever."

They kissed again and Bobby's hands moved to her breast. Gleason placed her hand on his and stopped him, "Let me give you a massage, Love." She smiled at him and then crawled to the bench at the foot of the bed and retrieved the jar of warming massage cream then crept back to Bobby's side. "Turn over. Go on, turn over."

Bobby smiled and rolled onto his stomach. Gleason straddled his bottom, took a dab of cream and began to rub his broad, strong back. His skin was like satin, smooth, and sleek; the layer of muscle just below his skin sat thick under her fingers.

"Oh, that feels so good," Bobby moaned. Gleason smiled and continued to rub. She kneaded the base of his neck where it joined his back to become his shoulders. She worked his shoulders, rubbing with her fingers and the heels of her palm; then, she stroked his upper arms, caressing the bands of sinew that defined his biceps. Bobby is massively strong, Gleason realized. She enjoyed touching him in this way.

Bobby had never had a massage. He rested looking left, hands flat beside his head. Gleason was a tight bundle on his bottom, her weight pushing his goods into the bed; it felt nice, her sitting on him. She started at his neck, pushing and pulling his muscles; her fingers are so strong yet so gentle, he thought. The cream made her hands slide over the skin on his shoulders, her fingers gently gripping the muscles beneath. His tension slid away as her hands slid around. God, this feels good, he thought.

The soft scent of the cream filled the air around the bed, lightly intoxicating, sensual, and arousing. Gleason liked sitting across Bobby's bottom, her legs stretched over him, her place wide open to him. She wished she had taken off her panties and bra, but Bobby wanted her to wear them and she wanted to please him.

So slightly, without realizing, Gleason began to move over Bobby's butt as she rubbed the span of his back. Her mind went to what waited for her on the other side of his bottom. Bobby is so long, so thick unlike any of the three other men with whom she had been.

The strain drained from Bobby's body and mind. Slowly, steadily, with every stroke of her hands, the worry about his mother slid away and the stress of work melted from his mind. The wedding this afternoon removed his anxiety about Malcolm. His mind emptied as his body relaxed.

Gleason moved on him in earnest, rubbing herself over his bare bottom, pressing hotly. Oh, she wanted him. She leaned forward and kissed his back, sliding her hands around, under his hips, seeking something good. Bobby snorted a sigh and Gleason realized he was asleep. "Bobby?" she whispered, "Dearheart?" His breathing deepened and Gleason slumped in her disappointment.

Carefully she crept off him, moved to the edge of the bed and pulled the sheet over his back and shoulders. Bobby curled up onto his side and snuggled into the pillow. Gleason smiled down at him and snapped off the light. She removed her bra and panties, took the hotel robe from the closet, got her throw from their bag, and went into the living room.

She retrieved the champagne and her flute from the sideboard, setting them on the coffee table, and then went back for the fruit basket, which she set beside her on the sofa. Gleason filled her flute and plucked a piece of chocolate from amongst the fruit. She finished the champagne and all of the chocolate and eventually fell asleep on the sofa.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	65. Chapter 65

8

Designed Intent

Chapter 65

Sunday Morning

"Honey? Gleason?" Bobby knelt down and laid a hand on her shoulder. He could not believe he had fallen asleep – on their wedding night! Jesus. "Sweetheart, wake up."

Slowly Gleason roused, opened her eyes and slammed them shut again; the room was bright with sunlight. "What time is it?" she asked with squinting eyes.

"Almost nine, come on, get up."

Gleason sat up and her hands flew to either side of her head. "Oh, my head!"

"What? Are you ok?"

"I need a drink of water."

Bobby retrieved a bottle from the mini-fridge, opened it and handed it to her. Gleason drank heartily. "Oh, that's good." She set the cold bottle against her forehead.

Bobby picked up the now empty champagne bottle. "Honey, you drank all the champagne, that's why you have a headache. You're hung over!" He chuckled.

"It's not funny, Bobby, my head hurts." She sat with her hands over her eyes. A hand moved to her mouth and she mumbled, "I feel sick."

"Come on; let's get you to the bathroom."

Bobby took her by the hand and led her into the enormous bathroom. Gleason let go of his hand, dashed ahead of him and threw up. He stood beside her and held her shoulders. She flushed the toilet and he guided her to the sink. Gleason leaned over it with her eyes shut tight, "Oh, Bobby, I feel awful." She brushed her teeth and then leaned back against him.

Bobby wet a washcloth and wiped her face, "Well, Honey, that's what a whole bottle of champagne will do to you." He had to smile.

"When do we have to leave," she asked miserably.

"Not until after lunch. Come to bed." He took her by the hand again. "Here, lie down. Let me hold you."

Bobby slipped off her robe, shrugged off his and laid beside her on the king size bed, pulling up the sheet. Gleason curled on her side and snuggled against him. Bobby slipped his hand down her front to her place, probing, trying to slip a finger into her nest. "We haven't consummated our marriage yet, you know," he whispered into the back of her neck.

"Because you fell asleep on our wedding night!" she answered.

"We could do it now. Come here, turn over, let me kiss you."

Gleason didn't move, didn't say anything, then, "Bobby, this is going to sound cliché, but . . . I have a headache." She felt him slump against her. He removed his hand, kissed her shoulder, turned over and pulled the cover over them both. They slept.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunday Early Afternoon

"Hey, they gave us a tote bag to carry home all the good stuff," Bobby said as he gathered the erotica from the chest.

"Here, put that stuff in our bag and use the tote bag for the fruit," Gleason answered. Her head still hurt, but not as badly. They had thirty minutes before they checked out.

"Do you want any of this shampoo and stuff?" he called from the bathroom.

"Might as well; grab a couple towels while you're at it."

Bobby laughed, carried the soaps and such from the bathroom, and dumped the lot into their bag.

"You know, we didn't get the breakfast that was part of the package," Gleason observed.

"Well, that is because you were hung over from drinking all the champagne."

"Well, that was because you fell asleep and we didn't even make love on our wedding night. And still haven't," she pouted.

"Well, that is because you were hung over from . . ."

"Oh stop, for God's sake, Bobby!"

He looked at her and his heart exploded with love; he couldn't help but chuckle. "Are you ready, Sweetheart?"

Gleason looked around and said, "All this money and no sex!"

"Well, the day isn't over yet. Let's see if they will cut us a break on some lunch since we didn't use the breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"No, but you can eat mine."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late Sunday Afternoon

Gleason's head was still pounding as they climbed the stairs to their apartment. Bobby carried the carpetbag and tote bag while Gleason carried his suit on a hanger. She leaned against the jamb as he unlocked the door. He pushed it open and said with a smile, "Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?"

She looked up at him sardonically and entered the apartment, walking straight to the bedroom. She hung up his suit and lay down on the bed while Bobby set the two bags on the sofa and went into the kitchen.

"Here, take these," Bobby said coming around to her side with two aspirin cupped in his hand and a bottle of water. He held them out to her and she sat up.

"Thank you," she said softly, taking the pills with a swig from the bottle. She handed it back to him and lay back onto the bed, curling up onto her left side.

"Why don't you get undressed and get under the covers?"

"I just want to lay here a bit."

Bobby nodded, pulled her green throw over her then left and returned with the carpetbag. He hung up her suit and shell, put the items from the box of erotica in his night table drawer and tossed the rest of their clothing into the basket in the bottom of the closet, setting the carpetbag inside as well. Bobby went back to the kitchen and put the fruit into the refrigerator, then folded up the tote bag and set it in the coat closet.

He was running down to get the Sunday paper when he met Ted Oelwein, building super and neighbor across the hall, coming up the stairs.

"Bobby! How's things?"

Bobby looked down, ran his hand down the back of his head and looked up with a huge smile, "Gleason and I were married yesterday."

"No shit! Congratulations! She is a wonderful woman, Bobby." Ted stuck out his hand and the men shook.

"Yeah, she is."

"Well, you guys will have to come over and we'll celebrate. What say?"

"That'd be nice, Ted, thanks. Give our best to Becky."

"Will do. Give our best to your wife." The men shared a smile and continued on their ways.

Bobby got the paper and ran back up. He peeked in on Gleason and saw that she was asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three hours later, Bobby sat in his chair with a beer reading the paper when Gleason came down the hall. She bore pillow wrinkles on the side of her face and frenzied hair. He didn't hear her as she crossed to him and put a hand on his head.

He looked up and smiled, setting down the paper, "How's my bride feeling?" He reached up for her and she sat on his lap, leaning against his shoulder.

"Better," she said simply.

He smiled and ran his hand over her head, then turned her face towards his and kissed her softly. "I love you."

"I love you more," she replied.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving."

"You should be; you haven't eaten since last night. What do you want? Do you want to go out?"

"We can't afford to go out ever again because of all the money you spent for our wedding night," she pouted.

"I wanted it to be special."

"You fell asleep."

"Well, I'm awake now."

She smiled at him, searching his face, studying the man she would love for the rest of her life. "Yes you are," she said softly.

"So, do you want to go consummate our marriage?"

"Yes, but I need to eat something first."

"Ok, let's see what we have."

Bobby and Gleason each had a bowl of cereal as they had nothing else; the cleaned up the few dishes and then went to bed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason went into the bathroom and Bobby went into the bedroom. He thought of how much he loved her as he undressed. He pulled back the sheet and didn't recognize it.

"These are new sheets," he said to her as she entered.

"Yes, I got them for our wedding night. Do you like them?"

"They're pretty, like you," he said, sliding in between the silky sheets. "And they feel good, just like you."

She smiled shyly and finished undressing. He watched the way her slender arms and long legs moved, how her head tilted as she removed the pins from her hair, her hands as they combed through her red mass and twisted it in upon itself. She saw him watching her and their eyes locked.

"Come here," he whispered and lifted the sheet on her side of the bed.

Gleason slipped in and he took her in his arms, molding her into him. They clung to each other as they would forever. Bobby pulled back and looked into her eyes, brushing the hair from her face, "I love you, Gleason. I love you like I never thought anyone could love anyone. You are everything to me; nothing else matters in this life but you. I want you beside me forever. I love you so much."

She looked back at him, heard his words and could not believe this was real. "Bobby, I, I –," she ran her hand down the side of his face, sliding her thumb over his lips. "You are all I will ever have, ever need, ever want. I thank God for you. I will stay by your side for the rest of forever. I love you."

Without realizing it, the lovers shared their own vows.

They kissed tenderly, Bobby's lips moving to her neck, sucking the spot where her heart pumped. He kissed her chest and sucked her breast. Gleason lay back and Bobby's hand moved down her flat, soft stomach to her nest. She opened to him and he prodded gently, not entering, but stroking lightly between her nether lips. His finger moved to her clit and he pressed it softly, rubbing in a circle.

Gleason moaned quietly and Bobby's mouth returned to hers. Her hands went to either side of his head and then moved to his shoulders. Her left hand slid down his arm to his hand and she guided his finger into her slit. She hissed and arched. The heat and wet surrounding his finger inside teased his penis and it jerked in anticipation. Bobby slid his finger in and out, slowly while his tongue danced with hers.

She reached for his cock, its length and girth never failed to surprise her. Slowly, gently, she moved her fist up and then down and he took quick breaths through open lips. "Oh god," he breathed. She fondled his balls in his tight, suede-like sack and Bobby shifted so she could touch every part of him. Her hand reached further and her fingers dragged over the small buttonhole behind his goods. Bobby growled with desire and his finger shoved further up inside her.

"Now, I need to be in you now," he whispered and knelt between her legs. Gleason spread wide and arched her hips up to him. Bobby slipped his right arm under her bottom, pulling her up further and took his dark red penis in his left hand. He rubbed the head against her slit, poking just a bit.

"Fuck me, Bobby, do it now," she whined.

Still holding his dick, he pushed slowly into her, watching her eyes slam shut, hearing her deep growl. He let go of himself and pushed all the way up. Jesus, she is hot and so tight! He fell over her, resting on his forearms, hands going to her head; Gleason bent nearly in half. She gripped him inside and Bobby began to pull out.

"No! Stay inside, just stay," Gleason whispered, digging her fingers into his upper arms.

He obliged and felt her massage his dick from within. She squeezed and released, over and over. Gleason began to move under him and she whispered, "Fuck me."

Bobby's hip moved and his dick slid in and out. He moved slowly at first and then faster and faster, he slammed in and out of her slit until he arched over her and cried out, "Ungh, ungh, un-g-g-gh-h-h!"

Bobby jerked his semen into Gleason as she bucked and grunted under him. His gasps slowed to deep breaths and he felt himself harden again as she squeezed him with her inner muscles and began to move, pulling him as well as gripping him. "Jesus, Gleason."

"Fuck me, make me come again." His dick thickened and hardened with her words and his hips began to move, pumping slowly in and out of her. She is so goddamn wet and hot and tight, he thought.

Gleason could not get enough of him. "Fuck me!" Her fingers dug into his upper arms. "Hard! Do it hard!"

Bobby rolled onto his back and she straddled him. "Oh god!" she breathed as she moved on him. His dick rubbed right over that magical spot this way. Bobby's thumbs spread open her labia and she moaned deeply as she slid back and forth, driving his cock in and out, dragging it over that sweet spot. "Oh, god, god! Baw-!" Gleason pushed on him and came arching back, riding, rubbing on his cock. He grabbed her hips, spread his legs wide and then he exploded inside her. He arched up off the bed growling aloud as he shot his cum up into her, grunting and jerking.

Slowly they settled and Gleason lay on his chest. He ran his hands over her back, not noticing the scars that laced its surface. They rested this way for several moments and then he said softly, "Honey, I need to pull out. Roll off."

Gleason rolled to his left and curled up next to him, half on him. She heard his heart pound from the exertion of his consecutive orgasms. Her hand skimmed over his chest, her middle finger traced a circle around his right nipple, and she dragged her thumb over it in the way he does; his nipple tightened into a wee stone in the way hers does.

Bobby held her close and then pulled up the sheet and coverlet over them. Gleason sighed deeply and her hand curled on his chest. Bobby kissed her forehead and fought the tears that threatened to squeeze from the corners of his eyes. He listed as her breathing slowed and he knew she was asleep. Only then did Bobby sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	66. Chapter 66

7

Designed Intent

Chapter 66

Monday Morning

Eames was on the phone when Bobby walked in. He hung up his coat and then took his seat.

"All right, I let you know. Thanks. Bye."

Bobby looked up at her, "Anything new?"

"That was the victim's brother-in-law. Seems he wants to change his story based on a conversation he had last night with the victim's husband. So, how is the new groom?" she said with a smile.

"Eames, let's not make a bid deal of this, ok?"

Deakins saw Bobby come in and walked over, smiling broadly. "How's the newlywed?"

"Fine, Captain, fine. Thanks." Bobby sat and flipped open his portfolio, pretending to look for something. He felt their eyes on him, but refused to look up.

Deakins and Eames continued to stare and smile at Bobby. Finally, he could stand it no longer, looked up and said to both of them, "Look, this is no big deal. Let's not make it a big deal, ok?"

Deakins nodded as did Eames. Then Deakins said, with a loud voice, "Everyone, listen up! Goren's married!"

"Oh, gee whiz, no, Captain." Bobby put his head in his hands.

Of course, everyone stopped, turned, looked and then broke into an enthusiastic applause. Shouts of "Way to go, Goren!" and "About time!" and "Poor girl!" and other well wishes issued around the bullpen. Individuals wandered over and offered congratulations and handshakes and Bobby blushed through it all.

Eames was honestly happy for him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday Evening

"Where people surprised?" Gleason asked. Bobby told her about Deakins making the announcement about their wedding as they headed to the pizza place two blocks north.

"Actually, it was kind of embarrassing," Bobby said with a smile.

Gleason said nothing. She had told no one, as she had no one to tell. They walked quietly, each knowing the sad reality. Bobby put his arm around her.

"We should tell your mum," Gleason mentioned.

"Maybe we can go see her Wednesday night."

"That will be nice."

"Deakins wants everyone in MCS to get together for drinks Friday after work – sort of a celebration for us. We should go."

"Of course we'll go! How nice!" Gleason was excited.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday Night

Sledge lay in bed and watched Eames brush her hair. She saw him in the mirror looking at her and set down her brush.

"Come to bed, Hon."

Alex slipped between the sheets, but did not slip next to Edward. He turned to face her and lay with his head propped in his palm. "Are you ok?"

She turned her head and looked at him, but said nothing. Edward noticed the change in Alex since she returned from the wedding on Saturday. He perceived a quiet longing in her and he knew what she wanted.

"Alex?"

She sighed, turned and clicked off the light, pulling the covers over her shoulder.

Sledge dropped back onto his pillow. "Hon, I made it perfectly clear when we started. . ."

"Go to sleep, Edward."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh, gaw-w-w-d!" Bobby grunted deeply as his fluid spilled into her. Gleason growled under him as she came.

Bobby rolled off her, taking deep breaths. Gleason turned, slid up next to him, and whispered next to his ear, reaching for his softened penis, "Make me come again."

Bobby couldn't, not right now. They had made love four times in the last twenty-four hours and he was spent.

"Baby, I can't. Let me finger you."

"No-o-o-o, fuck me," she whispered. Gleason moved to straddle him and he stopped her with a hand to her hip.

"Sweetie, I can't." Bobby hated this – he wanted to make love again, but knew he could not. He looked at her and could not read her face. Suddenly, he had a thought. "Wait, wait, I know." Bobby turned and pulled open the drawer in the bedside table, "Here we are."

Gleason watched him, wondering.

Bobby turned with a smile and held up the vibrator from the 'box of erotica.' "How's this?"

Gleason smiled and blushed.

Bobby turned again to the drawer, removed the tube of lubricant and returned to Gleason's side. "Let's see what this thing can do."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"She's got a nasty fever." The two nurses tended to Mrs. Goren. "It's all right, Dear; here, have a sip."

Christian stood by the drapes watching the ladies take care of his gramma; he was worried, Gramma is sick, he thought. Christian was so tired – he had done a lot these last few days.

Saturday, he was with his daddy and mommy when they were at the castle. He watched them as they stood in front of the king while the king made his daddy a prince and made his mommy a princess. His daddy was so happy; Christian watched his daddy's gold and silver light sparkle and shine around him. Christian was happy that his daddy was happy. His mommy was happy, too, but she cried. He thought it was a happy crying, but he wasn't sure.

The child had walked along with them when they went for pizza tonight. He liked the smell of pizza. His daddy and mommy ate the whole thing. Mommy will be sick in the morning cause she ate too much, he thought.

Now Christian watched as his gramma tried to take a sip. She would get better this time, but not the next time. His daddy would be sad that Gramma is sick.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason smiled in her sleep and shifted slightly. She walked along the road; the meadow to the right was alive with wildflowers. The field on the left that had held rows of corn now had acres of wheat – lovely, dusty, beige wheat. No one can get lost in wheat, she thought.

At the crest of the hill, she saw the now familiar stone wall at the far end. There he was, watching their son walk along the top of the wall. "Bobby! Chris!" she called.

Chris stopped and looked up, Bobby turned around; something rested in his arms. Is he holding a _baby_?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday Morning

Gleason woke slowly. Ugh, she thought, queasy; too much pizza. She turned onto her side and slid her hand over Bobby's back. He was warm and strong. Her hand slipped to his waist and he stirred.

"Mmmm, that's nice," he mumbled and turned over to face her. "How's my wife this morning?"

Gleason smiled at him and then jumped off the bed and dashed to the bathroom. Bobby froze. "Honey?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm going back to my place," Edward said to Alex as he stuffed his dirty clothes into his duffle.

Alex stopped, turned and asked, "Why?"

Edward closed his eyes and looked away. The silence between them grew.

"Leave your laundry. I'll do it."

"No, Hon, I'm, I'm going back to my place." He finished stuffing his bag and walked into the bathroom.

"Edward? What are you doing?"

He could hear the low-grade panic in her voice. His toiletries filled his basket-like hands as Edward stopped, coming from the bathroom. Alex bore a pained, worried expression. "Hon, I can't, I can't . . . I can't stay here anymore. We have to end us. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." Edward said all of this so softly.

They looked at each other for a long minute. Finally, Eames looked away and nodded. Edward crossed to his duffle on the bed, dropped in his toiletries, and zipped it shut. Eames stood, not looking at him. He picked up the bag, crossed to her and put a gentle hand on her arm, whispered, "I'm sorry," and left.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gleason sat at the kitchen table with her hands over her mouth and nose – that coffee smell.

Bobby came around the corner, tying his tie. "Are you ok, Sweetheart?"

Gleason looked up at him and then stood. "I can't fill your mug, Bobby. The smell."

Bobby read her face, knowing her fear. "Honey, Gleason?" He took a deep breath, "Baby, are you taking your pills?"

Gleason leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. "Yes. I'm not pregnant. I'm too old. I'm taking the pills."

Bobby felt her shiver – she wasn't cold. "Glea, when is your period due?" He put his hands on her arms and moved back to look into her face.

"Tomorrow or the next day."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday Morning

"Good morning, Detective," Dr. Stephens smiled at the tall man.

"Morning," Bobby replied, taking the chair opposite the psychiatrist. He settled back and tugged at the creases in his trousers. He looked at the woman and smiled.

She caught the look, smiled back and said, "You look like the Cheshire cat."

Bobby blushed slightly and said softly, "Gleason and I were married this past Saturday."

Dr. Stephens, gasped her surprise and was genuinely happy for him. "Oh, Detective! Congratulations! I am very happy for you both." She smiled at Bobby with warm sincerity. "Why did you decide to get married?"

Reasons ran through his mind – I love her, she loves me, I want us to be together forever, so does she, maybe that bastard Malcolm will stay away now. "Lots of reasons."

The smile on her face grew. "Was it spur of the moment or had you and she talked about it?" Dr. Stephens was curious as to why they suddenly married.

Bobby laid his right ankle over his left knee, set his elbows on the arms of the chair and tented his fingers in front of his lips. He didn't look at her.

"I knew from the beginning that she was the one. In my soul, I knew it. I thought about asking her when I realized she was pregnant. But that's the wrong reason." He was quiet for a moment. "Then, then things got bad."

Dr. Stephens watched him process. It was important for her patient to examine the reasons for this life choice. Articulating the reasons enabled him to think metacognitively about his choices. She watched, waited and said nothing.

"Then, they got better. My temper is under control, we have stopped fighting, the past is behind us, and this last surgery was definitive. I wasn't sure she would say 'yes.'" Bobby looked at his psychiatrist and smiled slightly.

They sat quietly for a moment, and then Dr. Stephens asked, "You seem contented, Detective. Are you happy?"

"I am contented. And very happy."

"And Gleason?"

"And Gleason."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	67. Chapter 67

5

Designed Intent

Chapter 67

Thursday Evening

"Hi, Mom."

Mrs. Goren sat in her chair, dozing, wearing a nightgown and robe. She roused at the sound of her son's voice. "Huh? Oh, Bobby, Gleason! Bobby, pull over some chairs."

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Goren? Dr. Shinto called and said you had a fever."

"Oh, I'm fine, fine. There, sit, both of you." Bobby crossed to his mother and gave her a peck on the cheek. "I am just so tired all the time. Bobby, did you tell them to change my pills? I think my pills are different. I had pep before, now I feel like a slug. Did you tell them to change my pills?"

"No, Mom, Dr. Shinto changed one. Maybe that's why you are tired."

"I don't know," Frances said softly, sadly and looked at her hands in her lap.

Bobby watched her and worried. Gleason watched her and wondered about Christian.

Suddenly, Frances looked up and said, "How have you two been? You'll be going back to Chicago soon, won't you Dear?"

Gleason nodded and said, "Yes, I'll go back on Thursday, the 29th." She took Bobby's hand and gave it a squeeze.

He glanced at her and settled back into his chair. "Uh, Mom, Gleason and I have something to tell you."

Frances looked from her son to Gleason and then back. Her gaze slid back to Gleason and said, "You are pregnant, aren't you? I knew it! I knew it!" She slapped the top of the chair arm. "Didn't I say you were pregnant? You are going to make my little Christian a real grandson."

"No, no Mom, that's not the news. Gleason isn't pregnant." Bobby sat up in his chair. "Mom, Gleason and I got married."

The smile faded from Frances's face. She looked from one to the other. "But you got married because Gleason is pregnant. Right?"

Bobby wiped his hands over his face and said patiently, "Gleason is not pregnant, Mom. We got married because we love each other and want to be together forever." He held tight to his frustration.

"Well, why didn't you tell me about this before you got married? I told you I wanted to be there. These people would have let me out for my son's wedding, for heaven's sake. Why didn't you tell me?"

Oh, he hated lying to his mother. "It was a spur of the moment thing, Mom. We told no one. We just went to the courthouse Saturday and did it." He watched his mother and saw the sadness seep into her expression. He knew that she knew he was lying; he never could lie to her.

Gleason changed the subject with, "Has Christian been around?"

It seemed that Frances did not hear the other woman. She continued to look at Bobby and he shifted under her gaze; he felt like he was five again.

"What? What did you say?" Slowly, Frances's head moved toward Gleason.

"Christian – has he been about?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah. He likes those books. He likes the stories and nursery rhymes with castles and kings and that kind of thing." Sadness and disappointment permeated her voice.

The little boy woke up at the sound of his name. He sat up and looked out from behind the drape. Mommy and Daddy! He walked slowly to his grandmother's side but she didn't notice him standing there.

The three sat quietly for a short time and then Bobby asked, "How are you feeling? You had a fever."

"I feel ok. Just tired, that's all." It appeared that Frances was done visiting. No one moved, no one said anything. "So, now that you're married, are you going to have a baby?"

Bobby's eyes closed slowly and then he stood. Both women, and one little boy, watched him walk to the door and stop. Bobby crossed his arms and stood still.

"Mrs. Goren, I'm too old to have a healthy baby. Besides, I work in Chicago and Bobby works here."

Mrs. Goren nodded and then looked at her hands. "I understand. It's best for you two. The one thing I've always wanted, a single grandchild, is too much trouble for you to give me. Fine."

Bobby spun, stormed to his mother's chair and hissed darkly, "Goddamn it, Mom, this has nothing to do with you! We are not having children because we are too old. Jesus Christ! Let it go, will you?"

His vehemence surprised his wife and his mother. Gleason reached for his arm, wanting him to sit, but Bobby wrenched away and went back to the door, hands in his pockets. He knew he should not have exploded like that; but, dear God, he thought, all this talk about a baby was making him crazy. Deep in his heart, Bobby wanted a baby with Gleason. He had been cautiously optimistic when she had gotten sick in the morning and then was queasy with the smell of coffee – just like last time. But, her period had come, just as she said it would. There would be no baby.

Gleason looked from Bobby standing in the door to Frances and saw her look down to the left. "Here you are, my sweet pea!" Frances appeared to be listening and then said, "I know Daddy is angry. I said the wrong thing again. Your mommy is here, too. Want to say hi?"

Bobby turned and Gleason searched the air beside her mother-in-law's chair. Frances listened again. "All right, that's ok, I know you are shy. Did you know your mommy and daddy got married?" She listened again. "You were?" Frances laughed, seemed to listen and then said, "Oh Sweet Pea, that wasn't a castle!" Listening. "No, Honey, he wasn't a king, he's a judge." Listening. "Christian, you are such a silly thing! No, Daddy is not a prince and Mommy isn't a princess." Listening, "I bet she did look like a princess."

Bobby wandered over and sat again, watching his mother; listening to her converse with the child only she could see and hear. He glanced to his left and saw Gleason sitting with her fingers in front of her lips. He reached over and put a hand on her knee.

"How about you go and play while I talk with Daddy and Mommy. Ok? Yes, you can sit here quietly if you like."

Frances looked from the child back to the couple. "Well, your son was at your wedding. Too bad your mother wasn't invited."

"Christian was there?" Gleason asked in a small voice.

"Yes, he thought the judge was a king and that he was making you a princess and Bobby a prince. He said you looked like a princess."

"Jesus Christ Almighty!" Bobby said darkly and stood. "Will you stop this? Both of you. There – is – no – child!"

"So, I'm crazy! This little boy makes me happy, Bobby. You won't give me a grandchild – let me have this! You never, not once, ever did anything I asked you to do. So, why should I expect you to do this?"

Bobby wiped his face with his hands and said to Gleason, "Come on, we're leaving." He put out his hand to her and she stood.

"Mrs. Goren, we'll be back on Sunday." Gleason and Frances reached for each other's hand and Gleason bent to give her mother-in-law a peck.

"All right, Dear, we'll see you then."

Gleason stepped to Bobby and whispered, "Bobby say goodbye to your mother." He ignored her and led her to the door. Gleason turned and waved sadly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neither said a word until they entered their apartment. "I'm going to order Chinese, is that all right?" Bobby asked her. She could hear the ire in his voice.

"That's fine."

Bobby made the call, went down the hall to the bathroom and Gleason opened a bottle of wine.

"I'm going to have a beer. Or four."

Gleason looked at him standing in the kitchen doorway, hands in his pockets. She crossed to him and said, "Dearheart, your mum loves you. Don't give any mind to the things she says." She slipped her arms around his waist, under his arms. He didn't say anything and he kept his hands in his pockets. "Come sit with me." She slid a hand down his arm and pulled his hand from his pocket. "Come on."

He followed her to the sofa and they sat, Gleason curled against him. "Talk to me, Love."

Bobby ran his left hand over his head and down his neck, "She makes me crazy." Gleason knew to let him talk. "I have never been able to make her happy. Never. I do everything for her – always have. My deadbeat father and shit-head brother never did a goddamn thing for her. I took care of her. Them." Bobby rested his head on the sofa back. "Jesus."

Gleason knew that Bobby's anger and frustration was rooted in his want to have a child. His mother's talk of a grandchild and her humanizing the hallucination set off Bobby's temper.

After she was sick Tuesday morning and then gagged over the smell of the fresh coffee, Gleason realized that she could be pregnant again. She didn't think so, however, as she took her birth control pill without fail. Besides, she didn't feel like she had the first time. And then, her period arrived this morning, right on schedule.

Can I safely have a healthy baby, at my age, she wondered. What would that be like? I would have to relinquish my position, I suppose, and our income would be reduced by half. On the other hand, we would only have one rent payment each month, and we would not have the airfares. It was true; nearly all of Gleason's salary went to paying for the rent on her flat and the cost of them flying back and forth between Chicago and New York. We would need a bigger place, though; we would need a room for the baby, and that would be expensive. He would be such a good father. . .

The buzzer sounded. "Dinner's here," Bobby said, standing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	68. Chapter 68

Designed Intent

Chapter 68

Late Friday Afternoon

Deakins sauntered over and said to Eames, "Where's your partner?"

"He's going through that surveillance tape again."

"You and Sledge are coming to Mulligan's, aren't you?"

"I am," she looked down and began setting her desk to order, "I don't know what Sledge is doing."

Deakins suppressed his surprise. He saw Gleason make the turn from the elevators, "Here comes the bride!"

Gleason beamed and blushed, "Good afternoon, Captain. Alex."

"Congratulations, Gleason," Deakins said and gave her a quick arm around the shoulders. "You have made that man very, very happy. Angie and I wish you both the best of everything."

"Thank you," Gleason replied, blushing and looking at the floor for a quick moment.

"Let's get your husband."

"I'll get him," Eames said and started for the room full of wide-screen monitors.

"When do you head back to Chicago?" Deakins asked.

"The twenty-ninth."

"Will you two get a honeymoon?"

"Not any time soon. Perhaps this summer, whilst I'm on break and Bobby has built up some time."

Deakins watched Gleason light up as she watched Bobby stride to her. He turned and saw the same light in his detective's face.

"Hi, Honey," Bobby said and stood next to Gleason. Eames stood by watching and smiling.

"So, what time are people heading over there?" Deakins asked.

"The memo said anytime after five," Eames answered.

Sledge walked over and Eames turned and walked away. "Congratulations Gleason, Bobby." He nodded to Gleason and stuck out his hand and the two men shook.

"Are you and Alex going to Mulligan's?" Gleason asked.

Sledge took a beat and said, "Uh, I've got a prior commitment. I don't know what she is doing."

Gleason and Bobby were surprised, and then understood. Sledge watched them understand and nothing else needed said.

"Anyway, best wishes to both of you. Have fun tonight. I'll see you Monday, Bobby."

"Yeah, thanks." Bobby and Gleason looked at each other but said nothing. "Give me about ten minutes and then we'll head out," he told her.

Gleason smiled and Bobby dragged over the spare chair.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday Night

Police officers, detectives and office personnel filled Mulligan's Bar. The happy sounds of camaraderie made it nearly impossible to converse. Nonetheless, Bobby and Gleason accepted good wishes from all of his colleagues. The room was awash with drinks and smiles. Gleason met everyone and all were smitten with her.

"Hey, congratulations Bobby, Gleason," officer Byard said.

"Thank you," they replied.

"Hey, let me get Caruso. I'll be right back." Byard went to search for his partner.

Bobby's gut tightened a wee bit. Shit, he thought.

Several minutes later, Byard returned with Caruso. "Congratulations, Detective, Mrs. Goren," Caruso said.

Byard put his arm around his partner's shoulders and said to Gleason, "Hey, this here's the man that took that bullet intended for your husband."

Gleason wasn't sure she heard correctly, "Pardon me?" Bobby shut his eyes and looked away.

"Caruso took the bullet that that old codger shot.at Det. Goren, here. Back a few months, that jewelry store heist? Yeah, Bobby was trying to talk this old guy holding a gun on your husband into putting his weapon down, and – POW! – the old man pulled the trigger. It went wild, missed your husband, and Caruso here caught it in the chest. Good thing his vest was tight," Byard explained, looking from Gleason to the tall detective and seeing the sour look on Bobby's face. Shit, he realized, Goren didn't tell her.

Gleason looked from the officer to Bobby. "What bullet?" she asked, "When was this?"

Byard said, "We'll let you tell the whole story, Detective; congratulations again." And they walked away wincing at the trouble they apparently instigated.

"Bobby?"

"Honey, it was nothing. Let's let it go."

Gleason knew they would definitely talk about this at home. Gleason's deepest fear rose to the surface at that moment – he could be killed. She stepped closer to him, feeling his warmth, his strength. She would never let go of him, she swore to herself, never. She leaned against him and he pulled her close.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two Weeks Later

"Dr. Wintermantle, Dr. Conway is here to see you. Should I send him back or send him away?"

Gleason smiled and answered, "Send him back, please." She looked at the magnificent ring on her left hand and smiled.

"Gleason, how are you?" Malcolm said, pulling shut her office door behind him. He came around the desk and she stood. He went to embrace her, and she put up her hands and stepping back.

"No, Malcolm, don't."

He stopped and dropped his arms, his confusion clear on his face. "I see. Well, can we at least talk a few minutes?" he said, not masking his hurt and disappointment.

"Certainly, sit down." Gleason sat and Malcolm pulled up a chair; they sat, knees nearly touching.

"How are you, Love? I've missed you so, we all have. I wanted to call you, talk with you, see how you were doing, but I thought it best not to. I've thought of you constantly. How are you?" He rested his left arm on the side of her desk and reached for her hand.

Gleason looked at her lap; he hadn't noticed the ring. "I am fine, Malcolm. Actually, I am better than fine, I am married." She looked up smiling.

Malcolm was dumbfounded. "What?"

"Bobby and I were married two weeks ago." She held out her left hand.

His eyes went slowly from hers to the ring on her finger. "You're married?" He sat back and removed his arm from her desk. "I see." Malcolm's eyes moved back to hers. "Well, congratulations, then."

"Thank you." She couldn't stop smiling.

He sat up, uncrossed his legs and put his palms on his thighs, then stood, returning the chair to its place against the wall. "Uh, yeah, congratulations to you and, and Robert." Malcolm opened the door and left.

Gleason loved it! She pulled her cell from her bag and hit speed dial one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The newly weds' love for each other continued to grow and deepen. They continued to commute between Chicago and New York every other weekend, and they spoke at least once every day. More often than occasionally, they would speak on the phone late at night, naked, in bed, taking matters into their own hands.

Gleason faithfully took her heart pill and the other one and each one did the job it was designed to do. Her colleagues at Northwestern were surprised and happy for her when they learned of her marriage. Several of the female faculty in the different departments in which Gleason worked, and several of the Margrave Hall office assistants, had a shower of sorts for Gleason in the conference room in Townsend Hall; she received an array of items from naughty to nice. Malcolm and she maintained a strictly professional relationship. They met with their colleague, Willow, to work on the conference presentation they would give in Toronto in November. Gleason's life in Evanston settled into a full, working rhythm.

In all respects, Bobby was in top form. He and Eames worked as one on every case they caught; their thinking became synchronized once again. In addition, it seemed he had no temper; he would get upset, of course, but he would not lose control. Moreover, he stopped drinking except for the occasional beer. Bobby continued to see Dr. Stephens once a month for several months. As his temperament settled and his focus returned, Captain Deakins, Dr. Stephens and Bobby determined that he no longer needed to see the good doctor. In reality, both Bobby and Dr. Stephens missed their sessions.

Mrs. Goren's health continued to decline. Her weight continued to drop as her fatigue and confusion rose. Dr. Shinto could find nothing other than an accelerated physical decline some people experience as they age. He assured Bobby that nothing was afoot – his mother was becoming a frail, old woman. It pained Bobby to see her once spry self wane to a pale, thin shadow. Her mind, as well as her body, diminished. The antipsychotic drug, Geoden that she took for her schizophrenia, kept her fairly well balanced, but her memory and processing were not the same. Nevertheless, Frances Goren continued to badger the couple about having a baby. In spite of his efforts, Bobby still could not please his mother.

Christian continued to visit his gramma and was a constant source of joy for the old woman. He especially liked when his daddy and mommy came to visit Gramma; they were so happy now; he wondered if they knew about Lilly yet. While Gramma slept, and she did so often, the little boy watched for his mommy and daddy at the window, standing behind the drapes. Occasionally, he would pop into his parents' dreams and they would have a wonderful time. However, he saw the coming sadness. The child knew that his gramma was sick; he saw the dim purple haze rimming the edge of the near future. He also saw the second purple haze beyond the first. He was happy now, but a sad, sad time was coming.

Eames and Edward separated; they avoided each other completely at work, one or the other found an excuse to be unavailable when the captain called a meeting. Eames threw herself into her work as she had little else upon which to spend her time or attention. Sledge grew quiet; even his partner noticed that he passed up opportunities to snark at her. While Eames stepped onto her hurt about Edward leaving her and rose above it, Edward stepped into it and pulled it around him. He seemed centered yet sullen.

All seemed well in the Goren-Wintermantle home and on the eleventh floor of One Police Plaza; well, for a while anyway. After all, nothing is forever is it?

The End


End file.
